I Will Bear Witness
by LadyDeb1970
Summary: Now up: Chapter Seven: Allison Norman watched in horror as her beloved older brother and her childhood friend were murdered. Ten years later, she has a chance to right this wrong, in a most unexpected way, and a distant time.
1. Prologue: In the Beginning

Disclaimers: I do not own '_Lord of the Rings'_ or the characters within that story, or its prequels. That honor goes to J.R.R. Tolkien and his estate, and somewhat to Peter Jackson. I own the novel and the movies, but that's about it. Please be advised that this story mixes canon elements with the movie 'verse, along with some of my own ideas. Thus, Boromir has blond hair and Faramir has red hair, because when I hear those names, Sean Bean and David Wenham come to mind. Nor do I apologize for preferring movie Faramir to his book counterpart. Perfection isn't particularly appealing to me.

What I do own: the modern day counterparts of the Middle-earth characters, namely: Michael Norman; Devin, Brody and Flynn Hurley; Ava and Robin Edmunds; and Wendy Stryder. I also own Allison Norman, and any other original characters who pop up. It's a source of great joy for me to take clichés I find in fandoms. . .and turn them on their respective heads. Yes, I'm warped. That said, I hope you enjoy this variation on a popular (over-used?) theme.

Prologue: 1994

It was a beautiful day in late June, and nineteen year old Allison Kathleen Norman was absolutely positive that this summer would mark the greatest time in her life. She was holding tightly to her elder brother Michael's hand, never minding that she might receive strange looks. She didn't care. It was summer, school was out, and she had talked her brother into bringing her into town. Of course, it didn't hurt that he planned to go to the store.

Even so, that met with Allison's approval, because she wanted more than anything to see Flynn Hurley, the handsome clerk at the convenience store where they bought most of their junk food. She had a crush on him ever since she was thirteen and first started looking at males as something other than irritations. . .aside from her brother, of course. And it was when she was thirteen that the Hurley men arrived in River's Dale. The timing was incredible.

Devin Hurley was the new police chief. He was handsome, with two sons. . .twenty-one year old Broderick and sixteen year old Flynn. Brody was your prototypical jock at first glance. Tall, blond and muscular, Brody was then a college junior majoring in law enforcement. _He would be_, Devin said proudly, _a cop just like his old man_. Flynn was also tall, but he was more slender than his brother, and rather than blond hair, Flynn's hair was more of a reddish gold. Devin loved his younger son, but often seemed nonplussed by him, as if trying to figure out where he came from.

Michael had to explain that to his thirteen year old sister, who was more than a little confused by this statement. When he said Devin couldn't figure out where Flynn came from, Michael explained, it just meant that like most people, Devin couldn't understand why Flynn wasn't more like his older brother. To which, Allison asked, _why would he want Flynn to be like Brody_? Michael, for once, had no logical answer.

They grew up together. . .Brody and Michael, Allison and Flynn. Devin was, in the beginning, somewhat leery of the Norman siblings. Allison never entirely understood why. But as the years rolled by, he began to relax. Perhaps he was amused by the friendly competition between Brody and Michael, perhaps he took comfort in knowing that Flynn had someone nearby who was his own age and shared his interests.

Perhaps it was preordained, if only by teenage hormones, that as Allison grew, her feelings for Flynn changed. Indeed, as she and Michael entered the convenience store, Flynn only had to look up at her, blue eyes twinkling under a mop of red hair, and smile. It was his smile that did it to her every last time. That sweet, gentle, half-smile that turned her knees to water, and reduced her mind to mush.

Michael greeted their friend with a smile, and Flynn grinned back, saying, "I was wondering when you two would get here! I've got the CD's I promised you in the backroom. Give me two minutes, and I'll get them for ya." Michael shook his head, and Flynn persisted, "Michael, if I don't do it now, if I wait until later, I'll forget. You know that. Dad always teases me about how absent-minded I am when I'm studying."

There was the barest hint of pain in his voice, and Allison frowned. She knew, of course, that Devin rejoiced in the accomplishments of his elder son. Brody was the jock, he was the sports hero. He was the man's man, as the saying went. But she always believed that Devin was just as proud of Flynn as he was of Brody. He just didn't know how to show it, because he didn't really understand Flynn. His brother, Brody confided once, was a lot like their mother. . .it was made all the more eerie by the fact that their mother, Fiona, died when Flynn was still a baby. He never really knew his mother.

Michael picked up on their friend's distress as well, and asked, "Everything okay, Flynn?" The college senior shrugged, and Michael stepped closer to the counter, saying, "Look, don't worry about the CD's. I don't need them until next week anyhow. . .that's when Wendy is coming home from Europe. Right now, the brat child and I are just looking for some junk food." Allison rolled her eyes and gave her brother a brain duster.

At least, she tried to give him a brain duster, but Michael caught her hand in mid-swing, and told her, "Wouldn't advise that, baby sister. . .you know what they say about payback." Allison was on the verge of a smart-ass comment, then she saw Flynn's expression. Usually, the bantering between the two siblings could make him laugh. Not today. Today, he just looked unhappy. What on earth transpired between him and his father? Even after knowing the Hurley clan for six years, Allison knew she would probably never know. There was so much she didn't know, so much she didn't understand. . .so much that was unsaid.

So she settled for, "Which payback would that be, brother mine? Hell or bitch? There's a reason they say payback's a bitch, after all." Michael glared at her, but Allison just glared right back, her chin lifting defiantly. He should know better than that by now. She smiled at Flynn, adding, "Let me know if you wanna go swimming sometime, Flynn. Unless. . ." Oooh, shit, she never even thought of that. However, she forced herself to continue, "Unless Ava is planning to visit? Of course you'd want to spend time with your girlfriend?"

Ava was something of a sore spot with Allison. On the one hand, she made Flynn happy. On the other. . .on the other, Allison couldn't help distrusting her. She didn't know Ava that well, and putting aside her crush for a moment, Allison was always very protective of Flynn. In part, because like Flynn, she lost her mother when she was still a child. Similar wounds cause similar scars, and while Jillian Norman's body died when Allison was twelve, her spirit died long before that.

"I always have time for you, Allie Kat, you know that," Flynn answered, turning the page of his textbook. Damn. She _hated_ it when he did that. On the other hand, it was a comfort, knowing that someone other than her brother could read her so well. . .and not use it against her. Flynn continued, "But you have a point about Ava coming next week with Wendy. She doesn't. . . she's a little jealous of you, so we'll try to avoid giving her any reason to be jealous."

All right, there was another reason Allison didn't trust Ava. The first time the equestrienne came to River's Dale to visit her brother, she developed a huge crush on Michael. Then she met Flynn, and did a total one-eighty. It was real hard to trust someone who switched her affections so quickly and so easily. Michael was still fond of Ava, so Allison never confided her feelings to him. However, she did tell Brody.

After all, if there was anyone as protective of Flynn as she was, it was Brody. He listened to what she had to say, then pointed out that Ava admitted that she had a schoolgirl crush on Michael. . .but she loved Flynn. Allison could appreciate that. . .and Brody's not so subtle hints that really, she was still too young for Flynn. It was just. . .was she the only one who didn't trust Ava Edmunds? It looked that way. Maybe she was wrong about the other girl. Maybe.

There were a few more moments of pleasantries, then Michael and Allison moved on. It was movie night for the Norman siblings, and they had to have appropriate junk food. Cotton candy, popcorn, candy. . .whatever they wanted. It was a carry-over from their childhood, back when their father was around and their mother was alive in all senses of the word. Michael and Allison were happily teasing each other when a popping sound directed their attention away from their mock-argument.

Michael and Allison stared at each other, then Michael looked around the edge of the aisle. What he saw there caused him to pale, and Allison gulped. Whatever happened, it frightened Michael. Nothing frightened Michael. Then a voice said, "I know you're back there, now come on out." Michael took her hand and led her into sight. Allison caught her breath, as she saw what Michael had only a few moments. Flynn. . . Allison's small hands clenched into fists at her sides. Flynn. Oh God. Flynn. Flynn, no, no, no!

"Well, well. . .looks like I got two more people. Be smart, and you'll live a little longer. Unlike him," a man said. The voice belonged to a man, though she couldn't see his face. He wore a ski mask. But she couldn't look at him for long. Allison kept looking at Flynn. _Wake up, Flynn, wake up_. Flynn made no move. He was still. So very still. He was the quiet one. But he was never still. Only when. . .

Yes, that was it. When Allison was fifteen, Flynn was still trying to prove that he was just as good as his older brother. . .and took a foolish chance. It nearly cost him his life, and he lay in a coma for nearly two weeks. Devin Hurley was beside himself with grief and fear and rage. Rage with himself, primarily, though also with Flynn. He never left his son's side, nor did he release Flynn's hand. That was the only time Allison ever knew her friend to be still.

That was it, then. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead, he was just unconscious. That's right. He was unconscious. Any moment now, he would wake up. But then, the burglar did something unforgivable. He walked behind the counter, where Flynn lay on his side and kicked him onto his back. That simple action set forth a chain reaction that Allison couldn't have foreseen when she begged her brother to take her into town today.

For on the left side of Flynn's chest was a burn mark. A bullet. A single bullet. That was all it took to explode a person's heart. Tearing through tender flesh and breaking through protective bone. Flynn wasn't unconscious. He wasn't comatose. He would never wake up. Flynn would never again give Allison that sweet smile she loved so much. He couldn't. Because twenty-two year old Flynn Hurley was dead.

Allison gasped, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle the scream that wanted to tear free of her throat. Michael, reacting instinctively to his sister's distress, stepped between her and the sight of Flynn's limp body. And for the second time in ten minutes, the gun in the thief's hand spat fire. . .and Michael stumbled, knocking Allison to the ground. This time, Allison couldn't hold back her scream as she tried to catch her brother, tried to break his fall.

She managed, somewhat. Allison eased her brother to the ground, one leg collapsing underneath her body. But it was already too late. She was no doctor, but she could see that. The bullet didn't strike Michael's heart, but there was no way an ambulance could get here in time. No way in the world. The bullet struck Michael's lung, and even now, that organ was filling up with blood. He gasped, and clutched at her, his face white with pain and blood loss. Allison screamed at the man who just shot her big brother, "He was trying to protect me, you asshole! He was trying to protect me! Oh, God, Michael. . .don't leave me!"

Undoubtedly, it wasn't the smartest thing she could do. He had already killed Flynn. Michael was dying, but at that moment, Allison didn't care about being smart. Her brother was dying in her arms, the collegian she adored was already dead, and in all honesty, she didn't care if she lived or died. To her, it would have served her right if she did die. If she hadn't been so stupid, and gasped when she saw Flynn's body, Michael would have never stepped in front of her, and he would have never been shot. It was her fault. She asked him to bring her to town today, and if they hadn't come to town, Michael wouldn't be dying.

"On the ground! Allie! Mike? Oh, Jesus. . .call an ambulance! We got an injured man here!" a familiar voice called, and Allison looked up. She blanched. This couldn't get any worse. Officer Broderick Hurley was pushing the thief, the murderer, to the ground. Brody continued, his eyes darting about the store, "Allie, honey, keep pressure on the wound. . .do you know where Flynn is? I know he's working today, is he in the back?"

Allison had no idea how the police arrived here so quickly. Did someone hear the shots and call 9-1-1 or something? She didn't know. . .nor did she know what sort of evil god was watching over this day. It was bad enough. . .but for Brody to be here now? Brody repeated, his voice growing ragged, "Allie, sweetheart. . .where is Flynn? Is Flynn okay?" She just stared at the cop, stroking Michael's dark hair. No words would come.

Brody's partner, Ava's older brother Robin, entered the store and Brody rose to his feet, allowing his partner to shadow the gunman. Brody had to know something was wrong. He had to know that. But he didn't want to believe it. Allison could see it in his eyes. Even as he looked behind the counter and a groan broke free, he was still fighting the truth of what he saw. Robin asked anxiously, "Brody?"

Brody didn't answer. He just dropped to his knees and drew Flynn's limp body into his arms, keening. Flynn's head was nestled under his chin. Were it not for the bullet hole marring his t-shirt, anyone would think he was just unconscious. There was a terrible sound from Michael and Allison turned her attention back to her brother. He was trying to speak, but Allison whispered, "No, no, save your strength."

Save his strength? For what? For dying? Michael apparently recognized the truth, even if she didn't. He whispered, "You're worth it, little sister. I love you." His body convulsed in her arms, as he fought to draw air into his ruined lungs. In a dizzying haze, Allison heard Robin screaming, Brody sobbing, and Michael fighting to breathe. Then she heard another voice. A familiar voice. The now-retired police chief was on the scene.

But that didn't matter. Not right now. She tried to force words around the lump in her throat. Tried to tell her brother that he meant everything to her, that she couldn't do this without him. But the words didn't come. Michael smiled weakly at her. . .and then quietly slipped away. Allison screamed again, begging her brother to open his eyes, to wake up, he couldn't leave her! Then someone was tugging him from her arms, and she didn't want to let go. She couldn't let go, she couldn't let anyone take him from her.

Her mother was dead, her father. . .gone. No one knew where, no one ever talked about it. Not even Michael, whose gray eyes flashed with fury when their father was even mentioned. She. . . Michael was all she had left, she couldn't let him go. Flynn was dead, Flynn was dead, he was gone, and never coming back. In that moment, Allison wished with all her heart that Ava visited this week, instead of next week. If Ava was here this week, Flynn would be alive, because he would have the week off. She would far rather see him alive and in Ava's arms, than lost to them all. Flynn was gone, Flynn was dead, and she couldn't let go of Michael, not if she wanted to keep her sanity.

Then big, warm, strong hands were on her shoulders and she was staring into tear-filled eyes. Devin Hurley's eyes. He whispered, "Let him go, Allie. We both have to let go." Michael was at last pried from her arms. She mouthed, '_it's my fault, it's all my fault_.' Devin may not have been a subtle man, but he could lip-read. Something the four youngsters learned years earlier. He shook his head viciously and replied, "Like hell it is, little girl. You didn't pull the trigger. You didn't kill my baby boy."

And there the words were. Out in the open, where they couldn't be taken back. Flynn was dead. Michael was dead. Devin's face crumpled and he whispered, "Come here, little girl." He drew her into his arms and she sobbed into his shirt. Allison Kathleen Norman was just nineteen years old, and what remained of her joyous summer and her eager outlook on life was destroyed in one day. . .in ten minutes.

Devin Hurley, retired police chief, picked up Allison Norman and carried her from the convenience store where her brother and his son were murdered in cold blood. Not because they resisted the thief, as Allison later learned. Michael died for simply trying to shield his little sister from the sight of Flynn's body, knowing that she loved him. And Flynn? Flynn died just because. Just because the bastard could take the life of a young college student, who was loved.

Devin changed that day. They all did. But Devin's guilt ate him alive. For days after Flynn's murder, he sat in his youngest son's room, reading his journals. Flynn took copious notes in class, and recorded all of his fears in his journals. Including the growing rift with his father. They had so little in common. Six months after Flynn's murder, Devin shattered for good and took his own life.

Brody changed as well. He was always competitive, always driven. But his brother's murder drove him further. Even worse, Brody shut Allison out. She was grieving for both her brother and the boy she adored. He shut her out. . .even if his father didn't blame Allison for Flynn's death, Brody did. In a confrontation about two weeks before Devin's suicide, he told her bluntly that she should have died that day, instead of his darling baby brother.

She felt the same way, but the words still hurt. Allison withdrew from Brody further, even after he tried to reconcile with her. Ironically, it was Ava who provided the most comfort. . .Ava and Michael's beloved Wendy. It was Ava, grieving for the loss of her boyfriend, who introduced her to Delia. It was Delia's husband who murdered Flynn and Michael on that day. It was her husband who shattered Allison's world.

Because of that, Delia felt a responsibility to all three girls. . .to Ava, to Wendy, and to Allison. It was with the help of those three women that Allison got through the years after her brother's murder. It was they who supported her through the terrible sham that was a trial. Not that there was a miscarriage of justice. . .the bastard was convicted. . .but it made Allison physically ill to see the attempt to turn that monster into a victim.

Even with the support of her three friends, and the satisfaction of seeing Saul Conover pay, it would be many, many long years before Allison had any sort of peace. . .


	2. An Unexpected Second Chance

See part one for Disclaimer and all other pertinent information. I really prefer not to repeat myself. Besides, it's so depressing to admit Faramir's not mine.

Also, as different languages are brought into this, I'll indicate them as italics or bold. Where possible, I'll use Elvish.

Part One

The Present

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"

She bolted upright, her heart pounding in her chest. A quick look around her provided some reassurance. It was 2004, and she was lying in her bedroom. In her apartment, not in the house where she grew up. She drew her knees to her chest, trying desperately to settle down. These dreams were the worst. Ordinary nightmares didn't have her bolting up into a sitting position, screaming her lungs out. But these were no ordinary nightmares. Not after ten years. . .the horror was still fresh after all this time.

Even worse, the dream was always the same. Her brother moving in front of her, the popping sound, the look on his face as she tried to break his fall. Her own rage and sorrow as he died in her arms. It was a constant, never-ending replay of the day her brother died, her brother and Flynn. She was spared the further nightmare of her brother's blame, the nightmare that he blamed her for his death. He spared her that with his dying words, though she continued to blame herself. Brody no longer blamed her, or so she heard. She hadn't seen him in years.

"You are worth it, little sister. . .I love you," Michael whispered as he choked on his own blood. She cradled his head in her lap, telling him to hold on a little longer. She would take care of him until the ambulance arrived. For so many years, he took care of her when she was ill, comforted her when she was angry or sad. Now, at the end, their roles were reversed. She gently stroked his wavy black hair, caressed his bearded cheek. Saw the light die from his blue-gray eyes.

Michael was ten years older than she, and the only father she ever knew. He was the only family she had for so many years. . .ignoring the brief, beautiful time when Michael and Allison were part of the Hurley family. The only blood relative she had was gone. Not even thirty years old, and he was dead. He told her, many times, that he would not live to see thirty. Could he see the future? Did he know what would happen to him on a glorious June afternoon?

It couldn't be. No one could see the future. No one could have seen that Michael Norman, a twenty-nine year old teacher and beloved older brother, would die during a convenience store hold up. No one could have foreseen that he would die protecting his nineteen year old sister. Well, maybe some could have seen that coming, because it was common knowledge that Michael would kill for his sister Allison. But the ones who saw that coming were in no mood to speak out in those early days.

So it came as a surprise to none that he died protecting her. Allison sighed, knowing she would get no more sleep. She grimly reflected that she could look forward to an even more hellish day at the plant than usual. The factory where she worked for the last five years was miserable enough. . .but trying to deal with the insanity that went on without any real sleep? Still, it did no good to try to force herself to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she would find herself back at that damn convenience store where two men she loved so much were murdered. And it would start all over again.

With another sigh, followed by a muffled curse (something along the lines of '_I hate that goddamn place'_), Allison kicked the remaining covers away from her body and lurched from the bed. 'Lurched' was something of a misnomer. More properly, the word for her motion was 'fell.' How utterly embarrassing. She couldn't remember the last time she fell out of bed. It was while both of her parents were still alive, probably.

Not that Allison cared. She stumbled across the room to her computer and sat down, flicking on the power strip. Her computer came to life with an astonishing demonstration of lights and sounds. Allison winced at the bright lights in the dark room. She wished they had the technology in Star Trek, the kind which would allow her to turn on the lights with just a command, instead of getting up and turning on the light.

Hell, for all she knew, the technology existed, but it wasn't available to people like her. That was her mother's favorite phrase. 'That isn't meant for people like us.' Her attitude enraged Michael, Allison remembered. 'People like us' were just as good as anyone else, and her brother taught her to always hold her head high. She was just as good as anyone, and better than most. Dear, sweet Michael. She smiled in spite of the lingering tears caused by the dream.

The system finished booting up, and Allison signed onto the internet. What did she do before the internet came about, when she couldn't sleep? Well, yes, even before the internet, she would turn on the computer. Play some video games. Michael loved _Pac-Man_ and _Hunt the Wumpus_, and half a dozen other games from the early eighties. And Allison's adoration of her brother led her to those same ancient video games after his death. It was a connection to him.

Allison checked her email first, groaning at the spam which built up after only five hours. As she deleted said spam, an IM window opened, and '_hihihi_' was visible. Allison raised her brows, then sighed when she saw who IMMed her. Not him again. Well, she should have expected this. He didn't take her seriously about anything else, why would she expect him to take her seriously when she told him to leave her alone?

There was only one thing left to do. Not something she liked doing, but there it was. She closed the window and went to her set-up box to block his IM's. He seriously annoyed her, with his obnoxious cheeriness, his patronizing attitude, and his insistence that he knew what was best for her. The last was most obnoxious because he never even met her. Just talked to her maybe three times. Assumed that he knew everything about her, just by her screen-name and the profile she created for her online persona. This was her own personality, of course. But no one in her online circle knew her real name.

Maybe she was being bitchy, but what she needed, more than anything else, was a good night sleep during the anniversary week of her brother's death. That wouldn't happen, because she was still mourning him. Or so her therapist said when Allison called off their sessions. She called those sessions off because they weren't helping her. Two years after her brother's death, she was still having nightmares about that godawful day on a weekly basis. Those two years of therapy didn't help. She wasn't sure if it was because her therapist was incompetent or if it was because the therapist was right, and Allison didn't want to be helped.

Allison was leaning toward the former explanation, especially during the last few years. Three years earlier, the therapist lost her license. Allison didn't hear the entire story. . .just learned enough to discover that her instincts were correct. Apparently, the woman had a syndrome known as Munchenhausen's by proxy. In parents, it involved harming the child in some way to garner sympathy for themselves.

In therapists, it manifested itself in a very different way. The therapist undermined the well-being of her patients, to keep them coming back to her. She undermined them, to make her patients need her more. When she heard that, Allison wondered briefly if her nightly dreams about Michael were a warning. . .her older brother still trying to protect her, even after his death. It wasn't long after that Allison's dreams about her brother changed to yearly.

Allison made her way through the email. . .picking and choosing what she would keep and what she would delete. She asked Wendy, Michael's girlfriend, once if she thought the therapist was right, about her mourning for Michael. Wendy answered thoughtfully that she was right, and she was wrong. Allison would never stop mourning for her brother. She loved Michael, and Michael loved her. That was to be expected. In that way, the therapist was right.

But she was wrong, when the dreams were caused by Allison's mourning. Of course she had dreams about that godawful day. Two people she loved died that day, and it traumatized her. Wendy blamed herself for recommending that idiot as a therapist, and offered to find someone better, but Allison was determined to make it the rest of the way through this without help. She felt as though she failed Michael all over again.

A new box opened up, and to her relief, Allison discovered it was from a friend. She didn't know his real name, of course. He went by 'Undercover Elf,' and called her 'little pixie.' Allison didn't look anything like a pixie, but she didn't correct him. He said now, '_is the mindless one giving you a hard time, little pixie_?' Allison chuckled as she hit the 'respond' key and chewed her lower lip thoughtfully.

'_Since when isn't he? I finally put him in my blocked list. . .and don't say it. I know you're gonna say it, so just don't tell me that you told me so_,' Allison responded. She paused, then typed, '_Hey Elf-boy. . .need to run something past you_.' She rolled her shoulders to release some tension, and giving her friend enough time to send a smiley. That was Elf-code for 'go ahead,' and Allison typed, '_You know this is the anniversary week of my brother's death. Do you think it's weird that even after ten years, I still dream about that day_?' On the other hand, why did she need a therapist when she had her Undercover Elf?

'_I would find it much stranger if you did not, Pixie. You've told me in the past that your brother was murdered in front of you. . .you were nineteen years old, and home from college that weekend. You were traumatized, by his death and the death of your friend Flynn. No, I find it not at all strange. He was your only family after your mother's death, yes_?' Elf asked. There was a pause, then he added, 'And how many times must I tell you not to call me that?'

Allison laughed aloud, surprising herself at the same time. This was why she needed to be online. This was why she got up in the middle of the night when she couldn't sleep. She typed back with a winky-face, '_Oh, but it's so much fun to irritate you, Elf-boy! Besides, you would worry about me if I didn't tease you_.' Her friend responded with a 'hahahah.' Allison grinned, sitting back in her chair. She needed this. She needed to talk to Elf-boy. After a moment, she continued, '_And thanks. I know that in my heart, but ever so often, I need to be reminded by someone else. I don't trust my own instincts at times_.'

'_Now that, my dear Pixie, is the greatest mistake you could make. You have those instincts for a reason. That little voice which guides you. Is it your voice, is it your brother's? Does it really matter? Not at all. The only thing which does matter is that you listen to that voice, and heed its warnings_,' was Elf-boy's response. By this time, Allison came to the conclusion that English was Elf-boy's second language, judging from the formality of his grammar. There was another pause, then Elf-boy added, '_And Pix, you are quite correct. I would be most concerned for you if you did not tease me._'

Allison grinned and leaned forward, typing, '_Aww, I love you, too, Elf-boy_.' This time, her friend responded with a virtual raspberry, and Allison threw herself back in her chair, laughing hysterically. Elf-boy could always do this for her, if nothing else. He probably wasn't a boy. Based on his reactions to things, she guessed that he was about her brother's age. . .or, at least, what her brother's age would have been, if he survived. Late thirties, early forties.

And yet, he had a playful streak. He could make her laugh, even when she was in a bad mood. On a whim, Allison typed, '_Just outta curiosity, Elf-boy, what do you look like_?' She asked the question before, in the three years they were corresponding. He never answered her, though she told him what she looked like. A drab little woman with brown hair and hazel eyes. A little sparrow. Small and thin. Nothing special. Certainly not beautiful.

But that didn't matter when she was talking to Elf-boy. He liked her because he thought her smart and funny. In some ways, it was the perfect relationship. Such was the power of the internet. He typed back, '_Why does it matter what I look like, Pixie? Or is it mere, idle curiosity which drives these questions about my appearance_?' Another pause, then a pair of waggling eyebrows appearing in the box. Allison laughed again.

She answered, '_Just idle curiosity. It doesn't really matter, Elf-boy. You could be breathtakingly handsome or look like a troll. That's the beauty of the internet. It just doesn't matter_.' She paused, then added, '_Hey, it doesn't matter to you that I look like a sparrow. Why should it matter to me what you look like? It's just a. . .a reference point for me. Unless, of course, you'd like me to draw my own conclusions_?'

'_Brat! All right, Miss Pixie. . .what do you think I look like? No cheating. . .just your own instincts_,' was Elf-boy's response. Allison raised her eyebrows. Just her own instincts, huh? Elf-boy might just regret saying that! Michael taught Allison to use her instincts. He also taught her to use her imagination. If Michael had any flaws, it was his belief that she was worth dying for. Flynn was worth dying for. . .he had dreams. He wanted to be a doctor. Brody was worth dying for. She was nothing. Nothing but Michael's sister, and that was enough.

Allison closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She focused on the formality of Elf-boy's language, and his mischievous streak. Yes, he spoke formally, but never asked how Americans said things. He actually used American slang when it suited him. All right, forget about his speech patterns. Clear your mind of everything. A picture appeared in her head, and she typed in, '_About forty or so. Brown hair. . .or at least, dark hair. Dark eyes_.'

She waited for several moments, then Elf-boy responded, '_My apologies, dear Pixie, but I am MUCH older than forty. I am flattered that you thought so, however. I do, indeed, have dark hair_.' Allison shrugged. Hey, she never claimed to be perfect. Elf-boy continued after a moment, '_And Pixie, you should not think yourself lacking in some way. You are not the first person to underestimate my age. Nor will you be the last_.'

Allison scowled at the monitor, then leaned forward, her fingers flying across the keyboard. She typed, '_Dammit, I hate it when you do that! Can you read my mind or something_?' She sat back once more, almost pouting in her frustration, never mind that it was inappropriate behavior for a woman of twenty-nine. That was exactly what she was thinking, before Elf-boy had to pipe up with that addition about other people underestimating his age.

'_Not at all, my dear girl. However, I do know you. You have extremely high standards, Pixie, standards which I sometimes consider impossibly high. You do what you can, little Pixie, do your best. I can tell you, my young friend, that your best is better than you think it is. It may not be good enough for you, but then, you would not be human if you attained the standards you set for yourself_,' Elf-boy replied.

Allison chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, then typed, '_You know, you sound just like my brother Michael. He always said that it was good enough. . .my best was good enough, because I try. In fact, he also told me that sometimes I try too hard. But I don't get that. How is it possible to try too hard to do your best_?' She was painfully aware that the question was more suited to a teenaged girl than a woman approaching thirty.

But. . .in some ways, she was still nineteen years old, still frozen at the age she was when she lost Michael and Flynn. Better yet, where Michael was concerned, she would always be nineteen years old. Though some of the guilt for Flynn's death dissipated with time and maturity, the same wasn't true of Michael's death. And it was only in the last year that she started responding to Brody's tentative attempts at reconciliation. She would always think there was something more she could have done to save her brother, if not her childhood friend. Michael did so much for her. . .why was it impossible for her to aid him, for once? Why was it impossible for her to save him?

Elf-boy responded now, '_Your brother, as I have said in the past, was a wise man, Pixie. And in answer to your other question, consider this. You are painting a wall, and find yourself leaning over the edge of your scaffolding. The railing which is there to protect you is pressing into your ribs, and still you lean out, trying to accomplish a little more from your limited space. Sooner or later, little one, you will overreach. . .and the fall to the ground is a long one_.'

Allison read the message, then muttered a few imprecations under her breath. She hated it when he did things like that. When he wasn't reading her mind (or seeming to), he was coming up with analogies which made perfect sense. No one she knew came up with perfect analogies. Not even Michael could do that. Still, Allison knew she should be gracious, as she was taught. She typed, '_Thanks. That made sense, frighteningly so_.' She paused, yawning, then said, '_And if you'll excuse me, Elf-boy, I do need to get some sleep. Hopefully, I'll sleep without dreaming_.'

'_Before you sign off, let me ask you this. If you could have anything in the world you wanted, what is the wish you would make? And please, do not make it anything obvious like 'world peace.' I am asking as a friend, not as a judge for a Miss America pageant_,' Elf-boy requested. Allison frowned, chewing on her lower lip thoughtfully. As if hearing what she was thinking, her friend added, '_First instinct only, Pixie_.'

'_Damn you, Elf-boy_,' she typed without any real heat. She was rewarded with a smiley-face, and Allison laughed. After a moment, she typed, '_I. . .I want a second chance. A second chance with Michael. If I can't save him, then I want to tell him how much he means to me, how important he was to me for the years we had together_.' She hit 'send,' and sat back in her chair, sighing. Now she was really getting tired.

Undercover Elf's cryptic answer was, '_Sometimes, our second chances come where we least expect them, little one. Enough deep conversations. Go to sleep, sweet Pixie_." Allison was on the point of saying good-bye, when a flash of lightning lit up outside her window. Confused, for there was no thunder or rain, Allison reached for the off-button. However, there was a second flash, her computer seemed to explode. . .and everything went black.

. . .

Lady Arwen, daughter of Elrond, was trying to focus on her embroidery, but her mind was wandering. Something was about to happen. She overheard her father talking with Mithrandir about the One Ring, and about Estel a few weeks earlier. The One Ring was found, and Estel, as usual, was right in the thick of things. Of course. She rarely saw him during the last year. . .he was away, tracking Gollum, for much of the year, then taking the former Stoor to the Mirkwood Elves.

It was bad enough, that her father was putting pressure on her to leave with him, to leave Estel, and take the ship to the Undying Lands. To join him in Valinor, with her mother. She missed her mother, and she didn't want to leave her father. . .but nor did she wish to be separated from Estel. She loved Estel, why could her father not understand that? Arwen shook her head once more and returned her attention to her stitching.

At least, she tried to do so. However, Arwen was distracted by a flash, a scream, then a sickening thud. The Elven Lady stabbed herself with her needle, threw down her embroidery, then ran out to investigate. She gasped at the sight under her window. There was a human there, though Arwen could not tell if it was male or female through the curtain of dark hair. She knelt beside the figure, gently pushing the dark hair away, and discovered the stranger was a woman. A young woman, perhaps five and twenty years of age as Humans counted them.

And she was alive. . .unconscious, but alive. Very carefully, Arwen rolled the girl onto her back and winced. She had a broken arm, possibly some broken ribs. The Lady whom her kin called Evenstar scooped the unconscious stranger into her arms cautiously, not wanting to hurt her further, and carried her inside. She wasn't the only one who noticed the sudden bright light, or the scream, because her father met her at the door.

"I have her, Father," Arwen said when Elrond tried to take the girl from her arms. The Elven Lord inclined his head and moved to one side, allowing Arwen to carry the girl into her room. The strange girl was gently placed onto the bed, her face turning to one side. Her face was unmarked, but Arwen was more concerned with internal damage. The girl whimpered as Arwen's father began examining her, and Arwen gently caressed the dark hair, murmuring in Elvish, "Tis all right, little one, you are safe."

Her father set the girl's arm, murmuring, "This girl is Human, but her clothes look most strange." Arwen nodded. She was attired in loose-fitting trousers and a strange top which bared her shoulders. . .and she was shivering. Arwen caressed her hair again, murmuring in a soothing voice to her. She knew not if the child could hear her, but the sound of her voice didn't frighten her. Elrond continued, "And there is a strange mark here." He indicated something that looked like a burn mark on her forehead. Something Arwen missed earlier.

"Perhaps it was from the bright light. Father, do you have any idea how this girl got here?" Arwen asked as her father finished bandaging the injured arm. Elrond shook his head absently as he checked over the rest of her body. The girl moaned outright when he reached her ribs and this time, Arwen took her hand. The girl clung to her, whimpering a name. Arwen listened intently. . .'mi-kal?'

"I do not, Arwen. Nor do I know from whence she came, alas. I hear her murmuring, and her language is not known to me. It is not any form of Elvish. . .nor is it Westron. Her life is not in immediate danger, and I require more bandages. Do you wish to stay here with her?" her father asked, and Arwen nodded, not even thinking about it. Her father lay a hesitant hand on her shoulder and Arwen looked up at him, then the Lord of Rivendell left the room. Arwen returned her attention to their unexpected guest, who fell silent once more.

"Who are you, child? Why have you been sent here?" the elven beauty asked softly. She wasn't truly a child, not by the standards at least of Humans, but she was very young nonetheless. Especially to an elven Lady of nearly three thousand years. Her eyelids slid open briefly, revealing muddy green eyes, then they closed once more. Arwen murmured, "Be not afraid, little one. No harm will come to you here." At least, not for now. However, the time of the Elves was coming to an end, and Arwen knew this girl could not stay here.

Her father returned, and Arwen asked, "When is Mithrandir expected back, Ada? I heard something mentioned. . ." Her father looked at her, and Arwen fell silent. Something was very wrong. She did not dare speak of the One Ring, it was far too dangerous. Arwen's instincts were telling her that her father's reaction had something to do with the One Ring. Danger was fast approaching. She could expect more pressure from her father regarding Estel. However, for now, all she said was, "Do you think you can help her, Ada?"

"I am less concerned with her physical well-being than I am with how she arrived here, and how we will communicate with her as she begins to heal. As I said, she has no life-threatening injuries. But I can only imagine her confusion and fear when she awakens and cannot speak with us. She does not have the look of the Easterlings, or anyone under the sway of Mordor," Elrond answered.

Arwen looked up quickly at that, and she asked, "So you were concerned she might be a threat to us? I saw a flash of light, Ada, and heard naught but a scream. I do not think she is a servant of the Dark Lord." From her father's expression, she could tell that he was inclined to agree with her. The girl moaned and this time, her eyes opened fully. Arwen smiled down at her reassuringly, saying in Westron, "Do not be afraid."

She knew the child could not understand her. Her father already told her that was the case. But Arwen well knew, whether one spoke to a child who did not understand or a frightened animal, the tone was far more important than the words spoken. The child stared up at her, her eyes wide with fear and perhaps the beginning of trust. Arwen gentled her smile further, adding, as she placed her hand against her chest, "Arwen."

At first, she wasn't certain the girl understood, then her hand tightened around Arwen's, and she repeated with a tiny nod, "Arwen." The elf nodded with a broad smile. Yes, exactly right! The girl said next, tugging Arwen's hand toward her, "Allison." Allison. Her name was Allison, then. What a passing strange name, but she could hardly expect this Human child to have an elven name, though she did look like she was of Gondor. Rohan, not as likely. Rohirrim tended to have light hair, rather than dark.

Arwen said with a smile, nodding to her unexpected guest, "Allison." The girl's smile could have lit up the night sky with its warmth and relief. It was a start. They knew her name now. Arwen said next, indicating her father, "Elrond." She debated briefly about the wisdom in trying to explain that Elrond was her father. After a moment, she thought better of her impulse. There was no sense in further confusing the poor child. The Lord of Rivendell inclined his head to the young girl with a grave smile.

The girl repeated, "Elrond." She sighed very quietly, then sank against the pillows once more, relaxing. Arwen's heart twisted at the girl's obvious exhaustion. Poor child. She had no idea how she would react in the girl's position. Allison was obviously confused and frightened, and rightfully so. Arwen knew not of the girl's time, but up until the girl's arrival, there was no thunderstorm outside. . .her journey here must have been terrifying.

"I will check on her later," Arwen's father whispered and she nodded. He slipped from the room and Arwen lay on her side, facing her new guest. The eyes flittered open once more, and the uninjured arm moved toward Arwen. The Evenstar didn't move, and the palm of Allison's hand settled lightly against Arwen's cheek. Arwen covered Allison's hand with her own, smiling softly at this need for contact, for connection, as the child drifted off to sleep.

. . .

Galadriel had the right of it. Change was coming. Seventeen years earlier, Mithrandir began to suspect that the One Ring was in the Shire. To that end, he journeyed to Minas Tirith, and asked permission to enter the archives. The permission was given, begrudgingly, by the Steward of Gondor, Denethor. So Mithrandir told Elrond. What he did not tell him was whether or not the Steward willingly gave his young son Faramir permission to aid the wizard in his research. He did, however, tell him that the eighteen year old was an invaluable help.

High praise indeed, coming from Elrond's old friend. The Lord of Rivendell noticed that Mithrandir had a habit of collecting strays, of adopting certain folk who were close to his heart. Elrond's own foster son, Aragorn, was one such beloved child. No doubt, Denethor's younger son Faramir was another of those beloved children. Mithrandir had no children, save the children of his heart.

And now, Mithrandir was missing. For the last seventeen years, the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins lived in Rivendell, among the Elves who were his friends. Mithrandir was missing, and it was the fear of many Elves that the current guardian of the One Ring was in mortal danger. And now, there were mysterious lightning storms. Such storms were not common in Imladris, but even more odd, it brought a most unexpected visitor.

Like his daughter, Elrond realized immediately that the newcomer was human. A very strange human at that. He could not question her. She spoke no Westron, he realized quickly, nor Elven of any kind. It might be possible for Mithrandir to question her without words, or Lady Galadriel, his mother-in-law. But not Elrond. He was a healer, and while he had the gift. . . sometimes the curse. . .of foresight. He could not read the hearts or minds of others.

As Arwen settled beside the sleeping girl, Elrond reviewed what little he knew of her and her arrival in his domain. Based on what he knew from his human relatives, including his twin brother Elros, she seemed to be in her twenties. They often seemed so young to him, though he was half-Human himself. Her coloring was reminiscent of the men and women of Gondor, who were dark-haired and dark-eyed.

And yet, this unexpected young guest spoke no Westron. She spoke not the language of the Horse-Lords, the Rohirrim. Indeed, she showed no comprehension of any language Elrond ever heard. Her name, Allison, was unusual. It was not a name common to the Rohirrim or to Gondor. Those of Gondor had their fair share of Elven names. No, Elrond never heard such a name before. And then there was the matter of her clothes. Never had he seen such clothes, in all his seven thousand years. Those strange trousers, and the even more strange tunic that left her shoulders bare.

Could she be an omen, a harbinger of things to come? It was possible. . .indeed, nearly anything was possible. He simply didn't see what sort of omen. . .his foresight was not triggered by this child. Which meant either that she was not here to cause additional concern to the Lord of Imladris. . .or whatever trouble she caused was of minimal importance. Was her appearance connected with the one Ring? Possible, but he did not believe so.

And perhaps he was foolish for worrying so, but these were perilous times. Even as he tried to convince his daughter to leave Middle-earth, and journey to Valinor, she resisted him. It was a difficult thing, to work against one whom he loved dearly as a son. But he was ever against the relationship between his foster son and his daughter. Arwen was an immortal. No parent wished to outlive their child. For any reason.

This was the fate which Elrond was facing. He would lose his son Estel. There was no way around it. There was a strong possibility that he would lose his sons Elrohir and Elladan. Elrond could not lose his daughter as well. He could not. The Lord of Rivendell sighed and rested his temples in his head. His concerns about Arwen and Estel brought him right back to the child who arrived tonight.

Perhaps when Mithrandir arrived. . .if he was still alive. . .he could tell Elrond more about the child. Too many other things demanded his attention. Slowly, Elrond rose to his feet and walked outside. There was no more lightning, which made him uneasy. However, he walked to Gilraen's tomb. Many decades passed since Arathorn's young widow arrived in Rivendell with her son, two year old Aragorn. He ran his fingers lightly over the effigy of Gilraen's face, whispering, "I did my best, my lady."

Gilraen said nothing. She never did, and Elrond knew better than to expect comfort from the dead. Little such comfort and hope was found from the living. He was not happy about the rift between himself and Estel. No father was ever pleased about an ever-growing abyss between himself and his child. Indeed, there were times when Elrond felt he was being forced to choose between his two youngest children. If only Estel and Arwen never met. If only they never fell in love. If only his baby girl was not so determined to throw away her immortality.

Only if Aragorn accepted the crowns of Gondor and Anor would Elrond permit the marriage between his foster son and his daughter. Only then. But with the One Ring surfacing once more, war would soon be upon this land once more. Aragorn would fight in that war. He was a soldier, a Ranger, a chieftain of the Dunedain. There was a good chance that his youngest son would die.

A small piece of Elrond's heart died at the thought of Estel's death. He watched his foster son grow from a small scrap of humanity, with huge eyes, to a strong young man. And he laughed as his twin sons, Elrohir and Elladan, involved their 'little brother' in one scrap of mischief after another. He loved his youngest son. . .truly he did. There were times when his throat closed over, at the idea of Estel no longer among the living.

It tore his heart out. How, then, could he accept losing Arwen to the same fate? How could he accept that his beautiful, gentle, stubborn little girl would diminish to nothing after her beloved died? Elves mated for life. When they gave their hearts, it was forever. There were no half-measures with the love of Elvenkind. It was all or nothing, and most Men were unable to comprehend that. Their life spans were so short. . .and such passion frightened them.

It was not simply the Elvenkind who frightened Men in that respect. They feared such passion in their own kind. It threatened to consume them. And yet, there remained mortals who continued to exhibit such passion, never mind the possibility that they would be consumed in their own fire. Elrond had no illusions about the strength of men. Three thousand years earlier, after defeating Sauron, Isildur kept the One Ring for himself, instead of destroying it.

There was a chance that day, to put an end to Sauron once and for all. There was a chance that day to ensure that Isildur's Heirs, and Elrond's own heirs, would never find it necessary to fight the Dark Lord. . .ever. But Isildur kept the One Ring for himself, and in time, the One Ring betrayed him to his death. Elrond held absolutely no illusions about the coming fight with Sauron. And a fight there would be.

Elrond did not wish to see this land, this world, destroyed. The elves could not fight Sauron. He had little faith in men. There was little hope, regardless of what Mithrandir said. Elrond's musings and stroll brought him back to his daughter's bedroom. Arwen lay beside their unexpected guest, the child's head resting against Arwen's bosom. His daughter was stroking young Allison's hair, softly humming to her. Arwen never even noticed him standing there.

Elrond smiled to himself, recognizing the melody. Celebrian often sang that to the children when they were small. He knew his daughter missed her mother. They all did, though they also understood why Celebrian sailed to Valinor. The Elven Lord wondered briefly if this child had family. . .parents who were worried for her, brothers or sisters who protected her, even as they tormented her.

He watched a moment longer, then walked away quietly. They had no idea when the child would awaken, and Elrond had no doubt that she would be hungry. Assuming, of course, that she was able to eat anything. A rather large assumption, but Elrond preferred to err on the side of caution. _Yes_, he mused, _yes, let us operate under the assumption that this child eats like a Hobbit_. He learned a great deal about the many meals of a hobbit during the last seventeen years, courtesy of Bilbo Baggins. In fact, that was rather a good idea. Bilbo knew quite a few things about being lost in a land not his own.

. . .

In the early twenty-first century, a tall, blond-haired man was carefully letting himself into the apartment building. It was eleven thirty in the morning, and Detective First Class Broderick Hurley was called in on a missing person's case. Generally, the police had to wait at least twenty-four hours before they began searching for a missing adult. However, since Detective Hurley knew the missing person in question, he was conducting his own investigation.

Two hours earlier, as Brody was filling out paperwork, he received a phone call from Delia Conover. Normally, he didn't take calls from her. Logically and rationally, Brody knew Delia wasn't responsible for her husband's actions. But logic and rationality had nothing to do with the way Brody Hurley felt about Saul Conover. That bastard murdered his baby brother and his best friend. Brody would never forgive him for that.

Just as he would never forgive himself for his own behavior after Flynn's murder. So lost was he in his own grief, he failed to recognize the warning signs in his father. So lost was he in his own grief that he lashed out at the person who deserved it the least. Brody knew that Allison loved Flynn just as much as he did. He knew she felt guilty about the murder of their brothers. And he knew none of it was her fault.

And yet, he lashed out at her anyhow. Because she did feel guilty, because he was hurting, because. . .because he was a selfish bastard who forgot that he wasn't the only one grieving. Because of his selfishness, his father was dead. . .and the girl whom Brody once called 'sister' was missing. Brody turned in a circle, looking around at Allison's apartment. It held very little of the girl he once called 'sister.'

But the joy went out of Allison ten years earlier, and that bitch whom Wendy recommended to Allison only made things worse. Brody was taught to never strike a woman, but that therapist sorely tried his patience. Especially when he learned that she was deliberately undermining the well-being of her patients, just to make herself feel needed. Brody was a protector by nature. That was what he did. That was whom he was. And people like that therapist brought out the protector in him more quickly than anything else. . .save the mental image of his dead brother.

There were times when he thought he was always a protector, in one form or another. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about reincarnation, though he admitted that after Flynn was murdered, it was something he wanted to believe in. Was it possible that he lived past lives? Was it possible that after he died, that he would live again? Brody admitted that he wanted to believe that. It was a comforting thought.

But reincarnation was the last thing on his mind right now. Right now, he wanted to know where Allison Norman was, and how she left. She never arrived at work this morning, and that, by itself, was reason enough to worry. She hated her job. Even without his old relationship in place with her, Brody knew how much she hated her job. But Allison, even without the light in her eyes, would never simply. . . not go in.

She was far too responsible for that, and it went against her own personal code. Once, many years earlier, before the death of their brothers, Brody told her that she was an honorable person, because she didn't believe in shirking her duties. Allison, he recalled, simply laughed. As if she thought it was a great joke. He loved the kid, the gods knew that. . .but there were times when he could have happily shook her until her teeth rattled. And then some.

"Find anything, buddy?" Robin Edmunds asked softly, entering the apartment after Brody. The elder cop looked over his shoulder at his partner. They were partners for more than ten years, he and Robin. They might have been brothers-in-law, and that would have made Brody very happy. Even as this crossed his mind, his eyes settled on an old photograph. Swallowing hard, Brody picked up the framed picture, one of the few touches of Allison's personality in this entire place.

The picture was taken by his father, more than fifteen years earlier. In spite of his obvious pride in Brody's athletic prowess, Devin had another passion, aside from being a cop and sports. . . photography. Brody smiled, remembering. It was about six months after the Hurley men arrived in River's Dale, and that same year, he and Flynn bought their father a camera with a telephoto lens for his birthday.

As Devin Hurley grew more comfortable with the Norman siblings, he took the children, all four of them, out to the river late in the summer. Brody and Michael talked while sixteen year old Flynn and thirteen year old Allison played in the water. At one point, Flynn talked the shy younger teenager into swinging on the tire hanging from the tree with him. Devin, laughing with delight, snapped a picture of the giggling teenagers.

Robin came to his side, smiling faintly as he looked at the picture. Gods, they looked so young. Flynn's red hair was a little longer that summer, and it was curling slightly. Those curls drove his little brother insane. . .absolutely insane. Robin said in the silence, "My sister always envied her, you know. It wasn't just jealousy. She actually envied Allison because of her history with Flynn. Even though you two looked upon her like a sister, Ava envied her. I tried to tell her that their friendship, between Flynn and Allison, didn't make Flynn love her any less. She couldn't accept that, and I told her that if it was any consolation, Allison didn't entirely trust her. She actually laughed and said it did make her feel better."

Startled by this revelation, Brody looked at his friend. Robin grinned at him, adding, "What, you thought you were the only one who knew? Don't be ridiculous, Brody. Allison was absolutely over the moon for Flynn. It didn't take much in the way of intelligence to figure out why. She was in love with Flynn, Ava switched her affections rather quickly from Allison's brother to yours. . .and our Allie Kat has always been a protector."

Brody grunted as he settled the photograph in place, unable to look at his brother for more than a few minutes. After a moment, he replied, "Allie doesn't seem to understand that. She's never forgiven herself for 'letting' Michael and Flynn die. I know, part of that is my fault. I should have never told her that she should have died in Flynn's place. But. . .gods, Rob! Why can't she accept that she was just a nineteen year old kid who was helpless?"

"Because she's been helpless for too much of her life, old friend," was Rob's surprisingly insightful answer. Brody looked at his partner quickly, and Robin picked up the photograph Brody just set down, explaining, "She was helpless to keep her father from leaving when she was seven. She was helpless to keep her mother's spirit with them. She was helpless when her brother and the boy she loved died. I think she was sick and tired of being helpless."

The scary part of that was, Brody actually understood what his partner just said, convoluted as it was. And it never occurred to him, any of what Robin just said. He shook his head, murmuring, "She's like my little sister, Rob, and I don't think I know her at all. Not any more, and maybe I never did. Because if you're right, this has been going on a lot longer than just the last ten years. This has been going on since she was seven."

"Allie is a lot like Flynn was. She's always been very proud, and she lets people see what she wants them to see. And only what she wants them to see. Look at this place, Brody. Does it really look like she was taken here without her consent? There are no signs of a struggle, nothing to indicate that she was taken. Even if she went quietly, there would be signs of a struggle," Robin pointed out.

"Two things wrong with that, Rob," Brody answered, and ticked off both reasons on his fingers, "first, she never reported to work this morning. And two, her car is still out in front." He paused, then added, "All right, there are more than just two things wrong with it. Still, the simple fact is, Allie is not here. She never showed up for work, never called in, her car is still sitting out front, and not even the evil trinity knew she was planning something."

The evil trinity, of course, was comprised of Wendy, Delia, and Ava. Again, Delia's inclusion into the little club made him more than a little nervous. It wasn't her fault that she married that loser when she was barely in her twenties. Her husband killed his brother, not Delia herself. But he would never feel comfortable with her. Still, he would have never forgiven himself if he disregarded her concern and his own instincts. Delia's phone call got Brody concerned about Allison. Wendy's obvious fear made him uneasy, and Ava's outright panic had Brody starting the investigation. Robin looked away, for he knew this, just as well as Brody did. For all the envy and distrust between them at one time, Allison came to mean a great deal to Robin's sister, simply because she was a connection to Flynn.

Neither Wendy nor Ava were given to fear or hysteria. Indeed, Wendy was one of the most sensible women he ever knew. Yes, she was overly protective of Allison. . .for the same reason Ava was. Allison was all she had left of Michael. She could have done what Brody did after the death of his brother, and blamed Allison for being alive. But she didn't. Instead, she took that grief and turned into a different kind of weapon. One to protect the badly traumatized college student. It was Wendy who fussed at Allie in the weeks after the shooting, who made sure she ate, and who helped her to make funeral arrangements for Michael's death.

Robin interrupted his thoughts, asking softly, "So what do you want to do about this, partner?" Brody didn't answer, not immediately. He still hadn't checked his little sister's bedroom. But his gut told him that Allison wasn't here. That she was taken far away. And though he would never give up trying, he had the sensation in his gut that he wouldn't be able to find her. How he knew this, he didn't know. It was just. . .there.

At last, he said quietly, "We'll check the bedroom next, make sure all of her clothes are there. Eliminate all the possibilities. . .the plausible ones at least." He looked at his partner, adding softly, "I just hope she's okay. . .wherever she is, and that she'll come back to us. As the real Allie, the one I've missed so much." Robin put his hand on his shoulder, then Brody sighed, "C'mon. We have work to do."


	3. Allison in Rivendell

Disclaimer: Just in case anyone missed it during the previous sections, I don't own 'em. They belong to JRR Tolkien's estate and New Line Cinema, and the ones you don't recognize do belong to me.

Before I get to the reviews, I just wanted to let y'all know that I won't be updating again until probably the weekend of the 10th. I'm going to Atlanta for dragoncon. This is relevant to LOTR, because among the scheduled guests are Sala Baker (Sauron) and Craig Parker (Haldir). I will be taking my laptop with me, but I'm not sure how much I'll be able to work on stories while I'm away. I'll do my best, but no promises.

Reviewers!

Leah: I hope this chapter is less confusing. I think it will be, since it is set exclusively in Middle-earth, instead of jumping back and forth between Middle-earth and modern Earth. I'm glad you enjoy the story, and you're most welcome for Elrond. I can't imagine being caught between love for a foster child and love for my own child. . .I can't even begin to imagine what that did to Elrond.

Selene: I'm sorry for making you cry! Well, actually, I'm not. . .means I'm doing my job properly as a storyteller, but I am sorry for making you cry after being up for only a half hour. You are quite correct. . .Flynn is the modern day incarnation of Faramir, Brody is the modern day incarnation of Boromir. It's used often in reincarnation stories, but I think it makes it less confusing. Denethor won't come into the story for a while, but despite the similarity between the names and their appearance, Allie realizes that her Uncle Devin isn't exactly the same man. . .

Kelly: I can tell you this right now about Elf-boy/Undercover Elf. . .he isn't one of the twins, and he isn't Legolas (although I should think that's obvious, since his hair is blond, rather than dark). I can't tell you anything else, but Elf-boy's identity will be revealed at the end of the story. The tricky thing about second chances is, they don't come in the form you expect them to (general translation, Allie doesn't save anybody's life until the end of the story).

Sailor Elf: My dear Elf, I would worry about you if you didn't say 'interesting' at least once! Geez, that's at least three people who cried or were saddened by the prologue. I can't be doing too badly. As requested, here's more!

Part Two 

She. . .hurt. All over. There wasn't a part of her body that didn't hurt. Especially after she tried to open her eyes the first time. She squeezed them shut immediately, waiting for the agony in her head to ease. After a little time passed, Allison opened her eyes slowly, trying to remember what happened. She hadn't hurt this badly since. . .since the only time she got drunk? Allison actually groaned at the memory. Alcohol very, very bad. Allison very, very stupid.

However, she learned a most valuable lesson that day. No matter what people said, alcohol did _not_ dull the pain. It merely made one more miserable in more creative ways. That was the amazing thing about people, as a whole. They always found such creative and interesting ways to make themselves, and others, miserable. Allison sighed quietly. Unfortunately, even that made her ache, and she whimpered.

Someone whispering in an unfamiliar language drew Allison's attention away from her pain. She took Spanish and German in high school. . .had a love for languages. Indeed, before her sophomore year of college began, she thought about becoming a linguist. Flynn always. . . Allison swallowed hard, and instead of thinking about her lost friend, focused on the two people in her room. Or. . .the room where she slept.

It was a man and a woman. . .and it was the man who first turned to face Allison. He smiled gently at her, inclining his head. He didn't seem surprised that she was awake, or if he was surprised, he hid it well. Allison offered a brave smile in return. He seemed somehow familiar to her, but right now, Allison was in too much pain to really think much. The man addressed her in that unfamiliar language once more, and Allison just stared at him uncomprehendingly. Chagrin lit his eyes, and he held out his hand.

It was a vial of some kind, with liquid. . .medicine? Well, yes, it could also be poison, but would they be poisoning her if they saved her life? And what made her think they saved her life? Well, she was alive, wasn't she? Yes, she was, and these mental gymnastics were making her head pound even worse. The man sat down beside her, and when she made no move to pull away, slipped his hand around the back of her neck to cradle her aching skull.

With his other hand, he guided the vial to her lips and Allison swallowed obediently. As she did, she studied the man. Though he looked stern, there was gentleness in his touch and in his eyes. That made her wonder if he was actually worried, instead of stern. She could remember in the days before her father disappeared so mysteriously, that often when he appeared stern and angry, he was actually worried about something. . .or someone.

From that memory came another. This same man. . .that was why he seemed so familiar to her. Right now, her memory seemed about as Swiss-cheesed as Sam Beckett's on '_Quantum Leap_.' But even so, she thought she remembered him from before. Frowning as he studied her face, Allison ventured, "Elrond?" The change in him was amazing. His stern face warmed considerably with the smile he bestowed upon her.

He touched her cheek lightly, answering, "Allison." Ahh. All right, those shards of memory were more intact than she thought. Elrond turned his head to say something to the woman, and it was then that Allison saw them. His ears. His pointed ears. The sensation of falling down the hole into Wonderland, just like her literary namesake did, was growing stronger. Pointed ears. He was entirely too big to be a fairy. . .or a faerie, for that matter.

Nor was he a Vulcan. Which left, by process of elimination. . .an elf? No, of course, not. . .she was crazy to even think such a thing! At the same time. . .at the same time, he did seem rather ethereal to her. Elrond turned his attention back to her, and caught sight of her expression. He said something to the woman, and she left the room. Allison noticed it from her peripheral vision, but she paid no attention to the woman. She was entirely too shaken.

There were no such things as elves, were there? No, not from what Allison knew of the world, of her world. Just like there were no unicorns, centaurs, werewolves, or vampires. . .no matter what Goths had to say on the subject. They were wannabes. And yet, what else could he be? An elf, of course, not a vampire. Breaking eye contact with the healer/physician/doctor, Allison looked around her. Once more, her breath caught in her throat as she beheld her surroundings. It was the most beautiful place she ever saw.

Too beautiful, she had no words with which to describe it, and she couldn't even begin to guess at how it was built. There were no places like this in her own. . .world? No. No, no, no. Not possible. Things like this did not happen to someone like her! No, what really happened was she was in a coma. Yes, that's right, she was in a coma, like Flynn was, and she was dreaming. Things didn't happen like this. Things like this, it only happened in books and movies and tv shows. Not in real life, things like this weren't possible! Allison began to tremble, and Elrond put his hands on her shoulders. He spoke again in his own language.

She didn't understand a word he was saying, but that didn't matter. His tone and his touch reassured her. Allison lurched forward, whimpering at the pain in her ribs, but Elrond caught her and held her gently. He kept murmuring to her, and Allison bit her lip, trying so hard not to cry. She buried her face in his garment, whatever it was, because it didn't look like a shirt to her. All of this was strange and unfamiliar. She was frightened. She was in pain.

Slowly, though, the medicine Elrond gave her began to take effect. She grew drowsy, and Elrond eased her back against her pillows. Allison didn't fight. She was too tired to fight. Between her injuries, the sleepless nights, and the medicine, she began to drift off into a real sleep this time. As ever, Allison struggled against it. She didn't know why. Maybe it was too much like giving up. She gave up too many times already.

But she knew why after only a moment. The woman came back into the room, saying softly, "Ada?" Both Allison and Elrond looked toward the door, where she stood. As sleep dragged Allison under for a second time, the first hope she felt since she woke up began to surge through her. Because for the first time since her first waking, she saw a familiar face. Allison wasn't sure if she said the name aloud or just thought it, but the last thing on her lips as she drifted back to sleep was, '_Wendy_?'

. . .

"How is she, Ada?" Arwen asked softly, re-entering the room as the girl fell asleep once more. Strange, but the girl whispered something just as she fell asleep. Her father turned his attention to her, frowning himself, and Arwen asked, "Did you hear what she said, just before she fell asleep? I saw her lips move. . .but I heard not what she said." Further, she was concerned about the way the girl looked at her.

Arwen knew not how to interpret the girl's expression as she fell asleep, and her father answered softly, "Nor did I. But I am not overly concerned. She is on the mend, with no internal bleeding or injuries. However, she is exhausted. She was unconscious for three days. . .awake only a few moments, then asleep again. I would know how she came to be here, but I think such answers are beyond even wizards or Eldar."

Arwen nodded. During the last three days, she and her father battled the child's fever. She called out several times while she was unconscious. Always, 'mi-kal' or 'flinn.' And then she would whimper in pain and perhaps grief. It nigh broke Arwen's heart to see such pain in someone so young. Arwen and her father weren't the only ones to notice the child's grief. On more than one occasion, Bilbo Baggins came in and sat with the child while Elrond was occupied with other matters and Arwen took food.

She was aggrieved, Bilbo said, when Arwen or her father returned to the child's room. Her heart was broken, and had been so for some time. When father and daughter asked what she said, Bilbo shook his head and answered, "I know not her language, but I know the pain in her voice. I know grief. I know a broken heart, and this child has lived with a broken heart for some time. What caused her heartbreak, I do not know. But she needs our love, my old friends, just as surely as she needs medicine and sleep."

He left the room, then, to compose a song for her. '_Lament for a Lost Child_,' he said, or something similar. And now that the girl was awake. . .well, not at this moment. . .Arwen was certain that the twins would be in here often, trying to make her laugh. That was their way. They were pranksters, and they had huge hearts. To see someone, anyone, so sad would be a direct challenge to Elrohir and Elladan.

Ada was thinking the same thing, it seemed, for he murmured, "Perhaps we should teach the child Sindarin. It seems likely she will remain among us for some time, and unless we can communicate with her, we cannot aid her." Arwen nodded her agreement. Her father continued after a moment, "Arwen, did she say anything comprehensible during that first night?" That first night. Arwen shuddered.

Looking back now, that strike of lightning that heralded Allison's arrival seemed far more foreboding. The only daughter of Elrond heard whispers that Saruman betrayed them, that he forged an alliance with Sauron. Arwen had no idea if Allison was to play a part in the events to come. But one thing she did know. As the tapestry was woven, she faced losing the man she loved, her brothers, and her father. Arwen would need a friend.

Thus, she told her father, "I will start teaching her when she is more rested. She needs to sleep, as you say. And she cannot focus on lessons, if she is half-asleep." Her father looked at her, but Arwen's mind was already leaping ahead. The Elven Lady continued, half to herself, half-aloud, "I should start with the simple things, and build on that. As you and Mother taught us. But she is not a child, though she seems so."

"Indeed," her father agreed, rising to his feet, "but I have all faith in you, my daughter." Arwen smiled up at him. Ada kissed her cheek, and said, "In the meantime, I must see if the kitchen staff can prepare something for her. She will no doubt be hungry when she awakens next." After three days, yes, Arwen had no doubt that this would be so! Indeed, she was most amazed that Allison did not mention her hunger, but no doubt, she was still very tired, and still in a great deal of pain. Ada took his leave of Arwen and Allison, and Arwen sat on the bed beside Allison.

She and her father already spoke of the girl's future. Allison would, of course, need time to recover and heal from the injuries that were caused by her strange arrival in Imladris. The last word Ada had from Mithrandir, Arwen learned, informed him that the One Ring was found in the Shire. Its keeper, Bilbo's cousin Frodo, was encouraged to journey to Imladris with the Ring. It was likely that his gardener, Samwise Gamgee, would accompany him. After that revelation, Ada surprised Arwen with another.

He sent word to their ancient allies. . .all of them. Including the dwarves. This startled Arwen, but if her father thought it was necessary, it likely was. Elrond knew not what the consequences would be, but Arwen knew, just as well as he did, that Allison could not remain with them. He would ask Mithrandir for his counsel, but Ada's instinct was that Allison should go to the dwarves, or perhaps to Gondor.

To do that, she would eventually find it necessary to learn Westron. There were men, and women, of Gondor who spoke Elvish, mainly Sindarin. Indeed, Elvish names were popular in Gondor, as well as names of their own heroes. Allison might require a new name, for her new life. One that was similar enough to 'Allison,' and yet, one that was not unusual in her new home. She would ask Estel, for he served both Thengel in Rohan and Ecthelion in Gondor. He would know.

Arwen laughed at herself, realizing that she was moving too quickly. First, they had to learn to communicate with the child, and then, as she healed, they would present her options to her. And yet, at the same time, she. . .she wished that she could keep Allison with her. Arwen was determined to wed Aragorn, and when she did so, Allison could remain with her, perhaps as a lady-in-waiting or a princess of some kind. An adopted sister of Arwen Undomiel, and she could have her choice of suitors. Assuming she had no one from whence she came.

The truth of the matter was, Arwen was somewhat lonely. She had her father and her brothers. Glorfindel and Erestor, who were somewhat like uncles to her. But her mother crossed the sea to Valinor many centuries earlier, and her grandmother Galadriel was in Lorien. One of the wishes of Arwen's heart, even when she was an elf-ling. . .was a sister. She was the youngest child of Elrond and Celebrian, and she never had that sister. As much as she loved both of her brothers, it was. . .it was not quite the same.

It was entirely too early, of course, to think that Allison could be that sister to her. But the child seemed to trust her. . .indeed, seemed to take comfort in Arwen's presence. Was it asking so very much, that this small, pale child could become her friend, her sister? Arwen did not believe so. She smiled down at Allison, whispering, "Sleep well, little one. . .I will watch over you. There is naught for you to fear."

Arwen leaned over and gently kissed Allison's forehead, then tucked the coverlets more securely around the girl. She lightly stroked the dark hair back from her face, noting the individual streaks of silver in her hair. Estel's hair and beard was showing the first signs of silver, yet he was eighty-seven. This young mortal. . .Arwen still thought her to be in her twenties, perhaps five and twenty. It was possible that she was older than that, for she could be a distant descendant of Arwen's uncle Elros. Even more distant than Estel. But not likely.

Arwen sighed, then sat down on the bed beside her. It brought Allison comfort when she did so, Arwen noticed. It brought them both comfort. Allison, even unconscious, drew closer to Arwen, as if Arwen was someone familiar, trusted, and loved. Familiar and loved. . . Arwen looked down at the girl, thinking about that for the first time, and murmured, "Is that it, Allison? Do I remind you of someone whom you know, someone whom you love and who loves you?"

Perhaps an older sister or a friend? Arwen considered that for a moment, then decided that she was honored by this, if it was indeed so. She told Allison, "I swear, I will not betray your faith in me. From this moment, you are my sister, and I will do all within my power to protect you, for so long as you remain in Imladris." Saying the words gave Arwen a peace, and she fell silent. She was a healer, like her father, and there were many kinds of healing.

. . .

"The child is not connected to the Ring."

The statement was most definitive, and from the source of said statement, there was no question of second guessing. Like his young cousin, Frodo, Bilbo Baggins maintained a connection of sorts to the One Ring. Elrond, Lord of Imladris, asked next, "Then why is she here? Now, when Mithrandir is missing? When Frodo Baggins has begun a journey to surrender the Ring up for destruction? Why now?"

"Who can say, my dear friend? I know only that she has no connection to the Ring, and I would say that she has no idea why she is here, or how she came to be here. Not all things are connected to the Ring, my Lord Elrond," Bilbo answered. Elrond quirked an eyebrow. Bilbo added, "Even now, in these times. . .nay. Nay, there is nothing to fear from this little one." Elrond stifled a smile, as Allison was considerably taller than Bilbo.

"It may be that she has another purpose here, other than dealing with the One Ring," Glorfindel observed and Elrond looked at his old friend. The Balrog-slayer continued, "It is easy to assume that her arrival is connected with the reappearance of the One Ring, but far more likely that she has another purpose here. Indeed, if she was to be involved with the One Ring, would not she know our language? How can one with whom we cannot communicate be involved with something that involves the very survival of Middle-earth?"

Elrond could hardly argue with that logic, though he could not presume to know for certain. Glorfindel continued, shaking his head, "No. No, this child has another purpose here. Perhaps she has been sent here as a lesson. We know nothing of her time. . .nothing of her life. Perhaps she is a ruler or a leader in her world, and is showing signs of becoming like Sauron. . . perhaps her gods deemed it necessary that she be sent to our world to learn humility."

"I do not think so. One who must learn humility does not weep as she does," Elrohir observed. He leaned against his father's desk, a serious expression in place. Elrond looked over at his son, who continued, "I have visited her while she is unconscious, my lord Glorfindel. And even unconscious, she weeps. I hear the grief in her voice, the sorrow, the despair."

"Then what of another possibility? Perhaps she has been sent here, to learn her own strength. I do not think that a ruler of others would be dressed so," Elrond observed, remembering how she was dressed on the night of her arrival. Those clothes no longer existed. Whatever means of travel had conducted young Allison to Middle-earth. . .rendered her clothes useless. So it was discovered when one of Elrond's servants attempted to wash her clothes.

The room went quiet with that observation. They had been debating about Allison's purpose in this world ever since her arrival. Her manner of arrival, and the timing concerned them all. They were on the verge of war. Even now, reports were reaching Elrond of a new brand of orc. A mysterious young woman arrives in Imladris, unconscious and badly injured, as the One Ring was found. . .questions had to be asked, possibilities had to be examined.

Including the possibility that she was a servant of Sauron. That question was still being debated, though Elrond was fairly certain that even if Allison was a servant of Mordor, she was a most unwilling one. One by one, they were narrowing down their possibilities. . .process of elimination. They still were uncertain from whence she came. . .which led into the next observation Elrond made. He told the others gathered, "Arwen has decided to teach the child to speak our language."

That was received with silence, then Bilbo said, "Most excellent news, my Lord Elrond. Lady Arwen misses Aragorn most keenly, and the child does seem to appreciate her company." Elrond barely kept from glaring at Bilbo. He had to remind him of the situation between Arwen and Aragorn. Bilbo continued, smiling merrily, "I do hope Frodo has a chance to meet the child, once he arrives. I am quite certain the dear boy would enjoy meeting another stranger."

"Assuming my dear little brother has not frightened him overmuch!" Elrohir sniggered. Elrond looked at his son, who added, "Ada, please. I love Estel, I always have. But put yourself in the shoes. . .or rather, feet. . .of young Frodo. This man, this Ranger, who can be rather. . .solemn, even at the best of times, is his guide and protector. In addition, who knows what kinds of disaster have befallen Frodo Baggins on his journey here!"

"All the more reason for the dear boy to meet Lady Allison! As you say, Elrohir, the Dunadan can be quite. . .overwhelming. And please, do not tease him so much about how dirty he becomes. He is a Ranger, he has not the opportunity to bathe as he did at Rivendell," Bilbo answered. He paused, then added with a smile, "Even so. Though he is now eighty-seven, I still see him as he was when he was just a boy."

Elrond did not tell Bilbo that no matter how old Estel was, he would always be a boy to him. Nor did he remind his old friend that in the eyes of their friend, Mithrandir, they were all but children. The grey wizard lived for three hundred of men's lifetimes. That made him at least twenty thousand years old, perhaps more. Elrond never asked. He did not believe he wished to know. Instead, he said, "We are still undecided about the fate of Lady Allison, and what her place in Middle-earth is. Why has she come here, is it possible that even she does not know the answer to this question. . . to any of these questions? I would say it is likely she does not know herself. This makes the decision of what to do about her all the more difficult."

"For now, we can do nothing. She is of no threat to us. For the last several days, she has been unconscious, and even now, her body heals from her injuries. She is a Woman, not an Elf, and she has not our ability to heal. Ada, so long as she is healing, I shall not play any tricks on her. . .and whatever tricks I do play, will be designed to make her laugh," Elrohir said. He smiled, adding impishly, "That, of course, means that anyone else in this house is fair game!"

Elrond would expect nothing else from either of his twins. There were times, after the twins were born, when he and Celebrian questioned whether or not they should have any more children. However, their Arwen was born to them, and Elrond adored his daughter from the moment he laid eyes on her. Arwen. That was something else about Allison that concerned him. Arwen was growing far too attached to the child.

And yet, he had not the heart to step in and insist that Arwen stop her visits to the child, stop taking care of her. Elrond knew that Allison was in a strange place. He knew she was frightened, and becoming distressed while injured. . . The child needed his daughter. For some reason, Arwen reminded the girl of her home, and she felt safe with Arwen. He had no business taking that from her. And, he knew his daughter was lonely.

"We will discuss this again, once the delegates arrive from the old alliances," Elrond finally said. It would take, a few months, at the very least. That would buy them time. It would buy Allison time, as she learned to speak their language and communications could begin in earnest. Elrond added, "And I am not inclined to give up on Mithrandir. He is a wily old wizard. Whatever mischief has waylaid him, Mithrandir will find a way to us."

"Then I will take my leave of you, my lord. And Elrohir. . .please heed my words. It is kind that you refrain from pranks against the child while she is recuperating. However, remember that making her laugh too much will cause her further distress," Glorfindel answered. He paused, a wicked smile crossing his lips, then added, "I am certain that Lady Galadriel will be most displeased if we find it necessary to 'borrow' her March Warden to guard a helpless patient from her grandsons!"

Elrohir made a rude noise, then replied, "I have no doubt that it would cause Lady Allison more distress to have Haldir as a protector than any of my pranks ever could, but I will abide your words." A few more rude statements were made as the younger elf left the room, and Elrond just sighed. Haldir was a good lad, but he was likely to terrify Allison the first time they met. Even to Elrond's mind, the young March Warden had little in the way of humor.

With Elrohir's departure, the room became very quiet. Quiet, if you ignored the insults being bantered back and forth between Elrohir and his twin Elladan in the hall. Then Glorfindel asked softly, "What think you, old friend? Not as the Lord of Imladris, but your instincts. . . what do they tell you about this girl?" Elrond shook his head. That was what troubled him so very much. He had no instincts about this girl. Nothing told him that she was an ally, a enemy (Bilbo swore that she wasn't connected to the One Ring, but there were other enemies to the Free People of Middle-earth, who were not directly linked to the One Ring), or even a nuisance, though he was inclined to believe the latter of the three.

She knew not the languages of Middle-earth. She was badly injured. They knew not whether she had any skills as a healer or as a warrior. It was far more likely that she would be a nuisance than anything else. And he said so to Glorfindel, adding, "Yet, she was brought here, to Imladris, for a reason. In a manner of speaking, that makes her our responsibility, at least until such time as she is fit for travel. The question is, why was she brought here, to us?"

Glorfindel had no answer. None of them did. The only thing Elrond knew for certain was that she was to be kept away from the Ring. She was from somewhere else, but she was still healing and he feared the effects of the seductive Ring upon a wounded, vulnerable child. Who knew what the sort of place her world was? She could be seduced into taking the Ring there, and unleashing Sauron unsuspectingly. It could not be permitted. It had to end now.

. . .

The next time Allison awoke, the Wendy look-alike was no longer with her. Instead, there was a little man at her side. He smiled at her and said something. It sounded different from the language spoken by Arwen and Elrond. Allison smiled at him politely and shifted in bed. This time, it didn't send shooting pains through her body. It gave her the opportunity to see him more closely. What she saw surprised her even more than Elrond's pointed ears.

Like Elrond, this man had pointed ears. . .but there, the similarities ended. For one thing, Elrond was considerably taller than Allison's current visitor. For another, Elrond didn't have. . .hairy feet? Allison blinked, wondering if the medicine Elrond gave her was affecting her sight, and looked again. Yes. His feet were bare, and they were hairy. . .furry even. Allison raised her eyes to the man's, and he just smiled, as if he was used to people looking twice at him.

For her part, Allison felt a little strange. Not because of the medicine, but because someone was so accepting of her curiosity. She was taught not to stare, that being curious was impolite. And asking was even more impolite. Her newest visitor was evidently coached in what to say and do, for he patted his chest and said, "Bilbo." Bilbo. Elrond. Arwen. Where was she that there were such names?

There was still a part of Allison that wanted to believe that none of this was happening. That she was still in a coma, or something. . .especially as memories of her last night in her home began to filter in. She could now remember her IM conversation with Undercover Elf. Undercover Elf. Allison's brows knit as she wondered for the first time if Undercover Elf was really an Elf. She would worry about that later. Allison was wavering between trying to figure out what happened. . .why there was suddenly a storm outside her window before she arrived here. . .and getting to know this Bilbo. The latter won out. But it was close. It was _real_ close.

Bilbo. Why ever would she imagine such an odd name? _On the other hand_, she thought, _maybe Allison is a weird name for them_. Bilbo. He smiled at her again, such a bright and merry smile, she had to smile back. Following in the same manner, Allison touched her own hand to the bodice of her nightgown (if that was what it was) and said, "Allison." Bilbo pounded on the armrests of his chair, grinning broadly.

All right, that certainly was an odd reaction to her name. Then something disquieting occurred to her. She knew from her study of language, of dialects, that what meant one thing in one place, meant something very different in another place. Maybe she didn't want to know what 'Allison' meant in this world. Maybe that was something best left for her imagination, though Elrond and the Wendy look-alike, Arwen didn't react this way to hearing her name.

And she _really_ had to stop thinking of Arwen as being like Wendy. It wasn't fair to Arwen, nor was it fair to Wendy. It was just that. . .every time Allison woke, even for a few moments, Arwen was there. It reminded Allison of Wendy in the days right after the double murders, when Ava and Wendy were only a few steps away from Allison at all times. Then, it comforted her, rather than suffocated her. The same was true now.

Arwen, though she spoke a different language, and though she was an elf, was the only person even remotely familiar in any way. A gentle touch, a hand against her cheek, drew Allison's attention back to the. . .being. . .in front of her. He wasn't an Elf, and again, he seemed entirely too big to be a faerie. Then again, she tended to think of Elves as being Santa's helpers. Definitely not the case with Elrond and Arwen.

Allison looked at Bilbo, wishing she could talk to him. Well, she could. . .they just wouldn't understand each other. And it wasn't like she had a universal translator, like they did in Star _Trek_, or translator microbes, like they did in _Farscape_. Worse luck for her. She wasn't sure if her name was a swear word in some language here. For that matter, she still wasn't entirely sure where '_here_' was.

Bilbo said something, and Allison frowned. Agh, this was frustrating. Bilbo shook his head, and instead, forced her to look straight into his eyes. It wasn't something Allison was expecting, but after a number of shocks, a person could become numb. She did as she was bid, and looked straight into Bilbo's eyes. And then she understood. There was always a need for words. But sometimes. . .they weren't the only means of communication.

In the eyes of her strange little companion, Allison saw compassion and sadness. He was sad for her. Allison managed a slight smile, and Bilbo smiled again. He tapped her cheek gently, and this time, she laughed. Her reward was an even larger smile from Bilbo. He reached over to take her hand, squeezing it gently. . .and that, Allison understood as well. He couldn't speak to her, as yet, but Bilbo just told her that she wasn't alone.

She sighed a little in relief, some tension leaving her shoulders. Then something occurred to her. What about sign language? Allison began to get excited at this possibility, then remembered that might make things worse.

She had only to remember some of the confrontations that took place at the factory, because of hand motions. Nope. Not a good idea at all. On the other hand. . .on the other hand, body language could be a form of communication. This time, she didn't allow herself time to stop and think. She was afraid if she would do that, it would occur to her just how surreal this was, and she would have a nervous breakdown, assuming, of course, that it hadn't happened already. On the other hand, if it was gonna happen, it would have happened a long time ago.

Arwen entered the room and smiled first at Allison, then at Bilbo. The man (or whatever he was) slid out of the chair, sketching a neat little bow. That made Arwen's smile broaden, and she inclined her head to him, her raven hair slipping a little around her face. She really was breathtaking. Years ago, when Allison first met Wendy, she was more than a little shy around her brother's beautiful new girlfriend. And her experience at school taught her to be wary of pretty girls. . .especially ones as pretty as Wendy. But Wendy was nothing like the girls at Allison's school. It took Wendy two minutes to win Michael's heart. . .it took her only two months to win Allison's as well.

Arwen said something, and Allison shook her head, frowning. This would drive her insane! Short trip, admittedly. Arwen repeated what she said as Bilbo vacated his chair and left the room with a backward glance and smile. This time, she pointed to Allison. Again, she repeated herself, her eyes filled with a patience that bordered on preternatural. And Allison finally understood what Arwen was trying to do.

The newcomer realized she was being silly. When learning any language, it was necessary to start with the basics. Allison listened intently, then attempted, "My govan?" It was clumsy, but it also made Arwen smile. She inclined her head, repeating herself. It was. . .a greeting? When Arwen walked into the room, or Elrond, for that matter, they always inclined their heads to her as Arwen did just now. . .a greeting, then, sounded the most likely.

"Mae govannen," Arwen repeated, smiling brightly now. Allison briefly questioned if she should ask how that was spelled, then shook her head. No sense in confusing herself. First, Allison decided she would learn their language. . .then figure out how to ask them how to write it as well. While Allison was fairly good with languages, she was also used to the comfort of falling back on English when her memory of a word or phrase vanished.

She had no such comfort here. Allison repeated once more, "Mae govannen." She enunciated each syllable, trying to get them right. When Arwen just nodded approvingly, Allison said, "Mae govannen, mae govannen, mae govannen. . .mae govannen, Arwen!" Her voice rose, almost like a child as she grew more excited. By the time she reached the last '_mae govannen_,' she was practically bouncing on the bed.

Unfortunately, that wasn't so good for her broken ribs or her broken arm, and Arwen put her hand on her shoulder, shaking her head with a wry grin. Allison desisted without further argument. But Arwen smiled, saying, "Mae govannen, Allison." That almost set them to laughing. But they just smiled at each other. It was silly, really. And yet, it wasn't at the same time. It was the beginning, and they could move forward now.

Since they were trying to communicate anyhow, Allison decided to ask a question, something she often wondered about. She caught Arwen's eye and asked, "Elrond?" Arwen frowned, then motioned to the door. Allison shook her head, repeating, "Elrond?" This time, she pointed to Arwen herself, then raised her hands, palms up, questioningly. There was a hint of puzzlement on Arwen's face. But not for long. She smiled again, her expression clearing up.

"Ada," Arwen answered. Ada? What did that mean? Husband, brother, lover, supervisor, doctor? Arwen evidently saw her confusion, for she pursed her lips as if trying to figure out how to explain 'ada.' After a moment, she cupped her arms as if holding a baby. Allison just frowned, shaking her head. _I don't understand, Arwen_, she thought. This evidently wasn't a surprise to Arwen, for she rose to her feet and placed her hand around her hip, then took her other hand and raised it to the level of her head.

Little, big. . .parent, child? Allison looked up at Arwen, repeating the hand gestures she saw her new friend make, and Arwen nodded. Allison couldn't help herself. It was too weird. She was understanding Arwen to say that Elrond was. . .that 'ada' meant 'father,' she thought. Allison asked, "Elrond. . .ada. . .Arwen?" The other nodded and Allison shook her head in shock. She looked at Arwen, saying, "Ada. . .fahhhther."

Now a relieved smile crossed Arwen's face. Allison wasn't sure if they were actually understanding each other, but at the very least, these lessons would keep her mind off her injuries during the next few weeks. . .to say nothing of helping her communicate. She motioned with her good hand for Arwen to continue. . .there was a lot she had to learn, and she would concentrate as long as her attention held!

. . .

"Arwen has already begun teaching the child Sindarin," Bilbo observed as he entered Elrond's study. His old friend looked up, and Bilbo continued, "The poor thing. . .Allison, I mean. . .becomes so frustrated because she sees our lips moving and hears our words, but cannot understand a word any of us say. She looked so excited when she realized that 'mae govannen' was a greeting."

Elrond smiled and gestured for his friend to sit down. Not that it should have been necessary, after seventeen years. Bilbo seated himself in one of the chairs, and the Lord of Imladris replied, "And do you think she will learn quickly, Bilbo?" The periannath smiled, his eyes lighting with laughter. Perhaps a foolish question. She spoke none of the languages of Middle-earth. They spoke not her language. If they wished to communicate, the child would have to learn quickly.

"I think, my dear Elrond, that Arwen will find it harder to keep up with her than the reverse!" Bilbo chortled. Elrond arched his brows at his friend, who explained, "The child seems to have a gift of languages. She took no time at all to get the proper pronunciation. At least for Sindarin. . .it may take her a little more time to learn Quenya. If you like, I can teach her some Westron."

"The time of the Elves is almost over, Bilbo. . .I think it unnecessary to teach her Quenya. However, if you could teach her Westron, that would be most acceptable. Where do you think she should go, when our time in Middle-earth is ended?" Elrond asked. Bilbo looked at him thoughtfully, and the Lord of Imladris continued, "I fear for her in Gondor. . .word has reached me. The Ruling Steward, Denethor, is failing."

Bilbo made no comment, and Elrond continued, "I cannot be certain of the welcome she would receive in Rohan. At this time, the best choice appears to be sending her with the dwarves, after the Council. Only, I know not if she would be welcomed by them. For weal or for woe, Allison was sent here, to Rivendell. That makes her my responsibility. I must keep her welfare in mind when I make this decision."

"Would that I could tell you that she would be welcome in the Shire. Even if young Allison was welcomed, word would reach others that a young woman lived in the Shire. . .one of the Big Folk. The peace of the Shire would be ended, and her refuge gone. I have never held you accountable for my imprisonment, but I would not send her to Mirkwood. What of Lorien? Can she not stay with Lady Galadriel?" Bilbo asked.

"Only for a time, old friend. I truly believe the dwarves to be my greatest hope. I would not trust them to deal with the One Ring, but with a helpless young woman, they would be honorable. It will take some time for everyone to reach us for the council. A few months. In the meantime, the child will grow stronger and she will learn more of this world. You are certain that she has no connection to the Ring? But is it possible that she could be a tool, an unwitting weapon of the Enemy?" Elrond asked.

"If He learned of her presence, perhaps. But why, Elrond, would Sauron care about a single, unhappy young girl? She is of no use to him. While it is possible that she can fight, I think it unlikely. I have looked at her hands, and though they are not soft, they are not the hands of a warrior, either. The child poses no threat. She is merely a frightened, confused, hurt young girl who has been sent to this world," Bilbo reassured. Elrond allowed himself a half smile, though he felt anything but comforted.

"That is what concerns me. All things occur for a reason. She has a particular purpose here. . .a land, a world unfamiliar to her. She knows nothing of us, or our language, or what is at stake. I must be certain that I am doing the right thing before I send her with anyone. I must be certain that I am not playing into the hands of the Enemy. We Elves mate for life, Bilbo, you know this. . .but we can become fond of someone in a short amount of time. Short, even for Men," Elrond replied. His mind went back eight decades, to when young Gilraen arrived with Arathorn's son. How long did it take for little Aragorn to win his heart? Seconds?

This came as no surprise to the periannath. Bilbo looked at him keenly, saying, "So now we come to the heart of the matter. You fear this child not because she is evil. . .but because of the attachment growing between her and your Arwen. You fear that when Allison leaves here, she will become vulnerable to the Enemy. . .and the Enemy will have a way to strike at you. Not because she would betray you. . .but because she will be regarded as your foster child."

Indeed. Elrond's heart stilled each time Estel arrived in Rivendell and left again. Each time, he feared that he would never see his foster son again. He lived with this fear for more than sixty years. If he sent Allison away, and she was captured by the Enemy in the process, Elrond and his sons would go to her aid. Even if they never became fond of her, they would do so. . .because she was under their protection.

Elrond was no warrior. Not any more. He was a healer now. And he knew, far too well, what would happen if orcs captured Allison. He lived with the consequences of such a capture ever since Celebrian sailed for the Undying Lands. Celebrian was an Elf. Allison was a Woman. . . what chance would she stand against the orcs? Even if Elrond himself remained behind, elves of Rivendell would attempt to free her.

The Elven Lord rubbed his hand across his brow. Seeing this, Bilbo said gently, "There is no need to make a decision now, my Lord Elrond. As was stated, she is still injured. It will take her months to recover. Tis July now. If we are fortunate, Frodo has set out from the Shire, and even now, is on his way." Elrond smiled faintly at his friend. Yes, he forgot that the months changed while he and Arwen cared for Allison.

Looking somewhat encouraged, Bilbo continued, "And as you say, I would not worry about Gandalf. He's a wily old one, that wizard. Whatever trouble he has fallen into, old Gandalf will find a way out. He's like that, you know. And he's been around longer than you, Celeborn, and Galadriel put together." Now Elrond's smile was broader as he beheld his old friend. Bilbo had unending faith in his friends. All of them.

"Indeed he is and indeed he can. Well. You have convinced me. . .for now, there is naught we may do for Lady Allison. She may not be of noble birth, but even a wounded bird needs dignity," Elrond answered. Bilbo smiled now, and Elrond continued, "And tis been my experience that there is more to healing than simply physically easing the pain and knitting the bones. Perhaps, as she grows stronger, Lady Allison would enjoy seeing Rivendell."

"I believe you are right, Master Elrond! The child possesses more than a passing curiosity, and a desire to learn. Speaking of old Gandalf, has he ever told you about the archives in Minas Tirith? Sorry was I to give to Frodo the Ring and all that went with it. But Gandalf did tell me that he received permission. . .albeit begrudging. . .from the Lord Steward Denethor to visit the archives," Bilbo observed.

Elrond was, indeed, familiar with this story, but this time, Bilbo had something different to say. Like Elrond himself, Bilbo was familiar with Gandalf's stories of Minas Tirith. The great White City, as it was called among Men.

However, Bilbo was familiar with other stories. He said, "As one of the Maiar, Gandalf has no children, save the children of his heart. That would, of course, be Frodo. . .and Aragorn. Especially since Aragorn was only twenty-five when they met. There is another. Faramir, son of Denethor. Gandalf loves him dearly, I can hear it in his voice. The boy is an inquisitive one. Tis a pity that Gandalf found it necessary to become a father to him. . .that the boy's own father sees not his worth."

Elrond looked at the periannath quickly, wondering if this was a veiled reference to Aragorn and Arwen. But Bilbo's eyes reflected only sadness for the unseen young Captain of Gondor, especially as he added, "When I left the Shire seventeen years ago, I was uncertain if I would ever see Frodo again, and I have ever loved that lad as a son. I cannot imagine the mind of Denethor. Does he not have room enough in his heart for _two_ sons? How can any father choose between two children?" _How indeed_, Elrond thought sadly, _how indeed_?

. . .

The days passed, and with each day, Allison gained in strength. Each day, she was awake a little longer. Each day, she learned a little more Elvish. Arwen was a most patient teacher, and when Arwen was otherwise occupied, the little man Bilbo (who was, she learned, of a race called the periannath by her elven hosts) taught to speak another language of this world, called Westron. . .or she later learned, 'the common tongue.'

She also learned that the form of Elvish she was learning from Arwen was called 'Sindarin.' There was another form, called 'Quenya,' which was the Elvish equivalent of High German or Castilian Spanish. Arwen was pleased with her progress, though Allison was frustrated at how slowly she was learning. After the first time she pounding on her mattress with her fists, however, she made it a habit to control herself. Pounding on a mattress when she was recovering from a broken arm and broken ribs was _not_ a particularly sensible thing to do.

When Allison was in this new place for about two or three weeks, Elrond's twin sons, Elrohir and Elladan, took her outside for the first time. Though her Elvish was halting at best, even Allison could tell that the pair were joking with each other, and with her. She had no idea what they were saying about half the time. Just kept smiling and hoped against hope that she wasn't doing something wrong by smiling at them.

After that, the days seemed to fly past all the faster. Bilbo kept her informed when the months changed. It seemed that in Bilbo's homeland, a place he called the Shire, they marked time a little differently than the elves. . .but not that differently from Allison did, and she found comfort in that. Thus, months passed. . .and the anniversary of the murders slipped away again.

In truth, there were other things on her mind. Her body was healing more slowly than it would have in her own time, but somehow she didn't mind. Each day, as she stayed awake a little longer, took a little more food, learned a little more Elvish, learned a little more Westron, Allison's memory of her past life began to fade, as if it was an unpleasant dream. In a way, it was a good thing, because the pain and guilt of the double murders seemed a little less here.

On the other hand, there was a part of her which feared she was betraying her brother and friend by slowly letting go. She stopped and thought about that for a time, wondering if that was a bad thing, after all. Michael never wanted her to be miserable, after all, and for a long time, she told people she was still working in the factory because she didn't have the energy to seek another job. This was true enough.

But. . .a disturbing possibility occurred to her. What if there was another reason for it? What if that idiot therapist wasn't such an idiot after all. . .and the reason Allison was still at the factory was because she was punishing herself? Was she really that much of a masochist that she deliberately remained in a job she loathed to punish herself for Michael and Flynn's deaths? She didn't want to believe that. Not in the last.

But she had a great deal of time to think, since her arrival here. Allison reflected a little ruefully when Arwen explained to her slowly that she was unconscious for three days upon her arrival here that she wanted out of her job at the factory. She just received that wish in a very unexpected way. And Allison thought about her final conversation with Undercover Elf before the freak lightning storm.

She told him that she wanted a second chance. . .if not to save Michael, then to at least tell him how much she loved him. How grateful she was to have those nineteen years before he was taken from her. Arwen bore a striking resemblance to Wendy. . . what if there was someone who bore a similar resemblance to Michael ? Or Flynn? Ava, Brody, Uncle Devin? What if they all had look-alikes in this world, and. . . What if. . . Allison stopped that thought, feeling more than a little dizzy at what just occurred to her.

Before she could follow that possibility, her still-healing arm was jolted and Allison almost passed out from the pain. Strong hands on her shoulders steadied her, and once her vision cleared of all the pretty dots, she found herself looking into the eyes of one of Elrond's friends. If her memory served, his name was Glorfindel, and Arwen told her that he was a great hero. This place, this world, had heroes and demons of its own, and Glorfindel killed one of the greatest demons, something called a Balrog.

No one really wanted to tell her what a Balrog was, and in truth, after the thing she saw since her awakening, Allison wasn't certain if she wanted to know. This world had elves and periannath (or as Bilbo called his people, Hobbits). If Balrogs frightened the elves, she was quite certain that she didn't want to know what they were. The elf looked at her with obvious concern in his kind eyes, and she managed a smile. In slow Sindarin, her companion asked, "Are you well, Lady Allison?" That was something else she was struggling with. . .being called 'Lady,' when she was not of the aristocracy.

However, it didn't seem to matter here. She was called an adopted sister of Lady Arwen, and that made her a Lady as well. One of the things Arwen taught her when Allison mastered the basics of Sindarin was the idea of fosterage. Allison knew about fosterage among the ancient Celts, but that started when a child, usually a boy, was very, very young. She was twenty-nine. Arwen smiled at that. . .then explained to her that elves lived a very, very long time. Her father, Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, was seven thousand years old.

This was mind-boggling to Allison. She couldn't imagine living that long. For that matter, she wasn't sure if she wanted to imagine living that long. However, she understood Arwen's point. In the eyes of Glorfindel, Erestor (for she now remembered that Glorfindel was not in Rivendell, but on a mysterious errand), Elrond, and others in Rivendell, Allison was a child. She wasn't the first human to live among the elves, but it was fairly certain she would be the last. It seemed the staff of Lord Elrond's house didn't believe she understood Sindarin, for they talked freely in front of her. . .and from them, she learned that the elves would be leaving Rivendell. . .or Imladris, as it was also called.

"Lady Allison? Have you reinjured yourself?" Erestor repeated. Allison blinked, having to think through the words before she smiled and shook her head in the negative. Erestor continued, looking not entirely convinced, "What ails you, my Lady?" Again, Allison shook her head, for everything after that, she didn't understand. The elf frowned thoughtfully, as if trying to figure out what would communicate his words to her.

Then he touched her cheek, and Allison was surprised to see moisture when he drew his finger back. Allison asked, wincing at the way she butchered Sindarin, "You leave?" Now comprehension appeared in Erestor's eyes. . .comprehension and compassion. The latter unsettled Allison. He put his arm around her, and led her back toward Lord Elrond's house. She was instructed to call him only 'Elrond' or 'ada,' since she was known as his foster daughter.

It was a situation that Allison found strange, for she grew up without a father. There was Devin Hurley, of course, but she wasn't entirely sure how to take Elrond. She was grateful to him, of course. . .for setting her on the road to recovery and easing her pain. But the truth was, she didn't know him very well, and thus, she was uncomfortable with calling him 'ada' or by his given name. That didn't seem very respectful.

As they began walking back, Elrond met them and Erestor began speaking rapidly, gesturing to Allison as he did so. Her new foster father's eyes reflected concern, then irritation, then finally compassion. Allison had no idea where she fit in there. Elrond said something in return. Erestor nodded and bowed to her, then Elrond turned her to face him. He said, "I apologize, my Lady Allison. Elves are not oft so rude."

As ever, he spoke clearly, enunciating each syllable, so she could understand him. While her Elvish improved during her time here, more complex conversation eluded her. Elrond paused, then said, "Our time here is ending. I seek to find a place for you, once we are gone." _Our time here is ending? What did that mean? And did it have something to do with the way Arwen seemed so sad at times?_

Elrond continued after a moment, "You were sent to Rivendell. You are my responsibility. I will not abandon you." Now she was starting to understand. For some reason, the elves had to leave, and she could not go with them. Elrond was trying to find a place for her. He went on, seeing the comprehension in her eyes, "I would see you safe. And able to function in this world, until you discover your purpose here."

The second thing Arwen taught Allison, after 'mae govannen,' which actually meant 'well met,' was a term equally important. 'Hannon le,' which meant 'thank you.' It was probably more impressive than that. . .probably 'my thanks to you,' but the exact translation was not important in this instance. She didn't want to leave Arwen and Elrond, nor the twins, nor did she wish to leave Bilbo.

But she couldn't go with them, for reasons unknown to her at this time. She would find out eventually. Every day, she learned a little more. Even if it was from the servants whispering. But for now, she met the eyes of the man who saved her life and took care of her while she was in Rivendell or Imladris. She met his eyes and said softly, "Hannon le." And as Arwen taught her, she dipped her head.

Elrond put his fingers under her chin, lifting her head until his eyes met hers once again. He said no words. Just smiled at her. She smiled back, feeling unaccountably proud of herself. For a moment, no words were spoken. . .then there was shouting as a horse went galloping past. Elrond pulled her out of the way, before she was ran down, and a small figure slumped off the horse and fell to the ground with a thud.

Elrond wasted not a moment. He ran to the small figure, Allison right behind him. The Lord of Rivendell looked up to see her watching with concern, and said tersely, "Find Bilbo. Go to Arwen." In that order. Allison didn't think about disobeying. . .she simply took off as quickly as her body would allow. It wasn't until much, much later, that she remembered the small body had furry feet. . .like Bilbo's. By that time, forces beyond anyone's control were at work, and Allison's fate in this new world was sealed.


	4. Many Greetings

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaack! Yes, it took me entirely too long to write this, and I do apologize for the delay. I actually started working on this chapter while I was in Atlanta for DragonCon (Craig Parker. . .ahhhhhhhhhh!). Unfortunately, when I returned to work, all hell broke loose, as the saying goes, and I've spent the last several weeks trying to cope with the crap going on there. I just started regaining the energy to write during the last few days.

I also want to mention. . .I am VERY inexperienced writing Boromir. This is my first attempt, and while I didn't write him as a sexist pig, I'm still concerned that I didn't do justice to him. Be patient with me. . .sometimes, it takes me a while to get a character's voice right.

REVIEWERS!

Lirenel: Thankees, me dear! Yes, more look-alikes, especially as the chapters go by. A very important one in this chapter. . .very important indeed. Not just to this story, but to the sequel (Faramir! I warned you about that!)

Kelly: Yup, Frodo arrives! Now, as to your questions. . .yes, Ava is the modern-day Eowyn. Does Allison save Boromir? You'll have to wait to find _that _out. As for Eowyn and Faramir. . . let's just say that I stick with canon. Somewhat. I don't wanna give too much away. Elf-boy/Undercover Elf i_s _a character from LOTR, an established character. Has LOTR been written in Allison's universe? The answer is either 'no,' or she hasn't read it/seen the movies/basically lived under a rock for the last three years. I'm more inclined toward the first option. As for Gandalf. . .read on!

Sailor Elf: Yes, but not surprisingly, her Sindarin is much better than her Westron. She speaks Sindarin far more regularly. The rest of it? Umm, Elf? That may take a while.

LalaithCat: Is Undercover Elf actually an Elf? That I can answer, without fear of giving anything away. . .yes. He is really an elf. I hope everyone remains in character. Since I've never written Boromir, he's the hardest one to write. . .at least right now, though I'm sure that'll change once I get to Denethor.

Bel: My other eternal reviewer! I'm glad I'm doing justice to Bilbo, as he's been extremely fun to write. Pippin is the featured hobbit in this chapter. . .hopefully, I captured that mischievous streak so common in Tooks. Sam and Merry will come in the next chapter. . .Pippin, I thought, would be the most likely to get in this position.

Redone: Thank you! I've not read any of your stories yet, but I've come across your reviews before, and they've impressed me. As Sailor Elf and Bel could tell you, these chapters are about standard for me. . .usually, the prologue is the shortest chapter. One of my little quirks as a writer.

The Woods Witch: 'Ello, m'lady! Good, then I've done exactly what I've been aiming for. At least, so far. I've seen. . .uhm. . .I think one other story that addresses the language barrier. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

Part Three 

Running with broken ribs probably ranked at the same level as getting drunk, in terms of stupidity. But when Lord Elrond told her to get Bilbo and to find Arwen, Allison didn't hesitate. Of course, he didn't tell her to run, but she received the definite impression that this was an emergency. . .so hauling ass was a very **good** idea. Besides, when Lord Elrond spoke like that. . .well, the only question when he asked you to jump was '_how high_?' She reflected ruefully, when she was capable of thinking clearly, that he reminded her of Uncle Devin.

None of which was particularly comforting right now. Allison lay in bed, trying to regulate her breathing. Months after her initial arrival in Rivendell, her ribs were still healing, as was her arm. It didn't help that while elves could be hurt (or even killed, something that made Allison shudder), they healed far more rapidly than humans. Unfortunately, rib injuries took longer to heal. Something she remembered when she found Arwen, after informing Bilbo that Elrond needed to see him. Actually, she didn't inform him per se. She just gasped in her still-halting Westron, "Elrond. . .see. . .now!"

Bilbo's eyes filled with concern, but he asked no questions. Instead, he set out in the direction from which Allison just came. That left her free to seek out Arwen. Which she did. And upon finding her friend, Allison promptly collapsed into Arwen's arms, exhausted and in pain. Much to her surprise, Arwen could not only support her entire weight. . .but the Elven Lady picked Allison as if she was just a child and carried her back to her room! Allison was too tired to protest, and didn't have the breath to argue in any event. Not that she usually argued with her healers. It did no good.

That was three days previously. Arwen looked even more worried. Worse, she didn't seem to want to talk about it. . .or maybe the explanation was more complex than Allison's understanding of Elvish. Allison did learn, however, that someone named 'Mithrandir' arrived. Among others. Rivendell (this town? Community? Place?) was much livelier these days. Or so she heard. She wasn't allowed out of bed, until Elrond was satisfied that she hadn't reinjured herself during her mad dash to alert Bilbo.

In the meantime, Arwen's brothers were learning just how bad of a patient Allison could be (truly bad, especially in her current mood). The stranger actually felt sorry for them, though they were getting on her nerves. She knew Elrond wanted them to keep her occupied (perhaps because she sometimes tried to sneak out of her room before reinjuring herself?). She also knew that they wanted to be elsewhere. Judging from what she heard earlier, among the new arrivals was a woman named 'Estel.'

It never occurred to her that 'Estel' might be a man. For one thing, it sounded very close to 'Estelle.' For another, she learned from Arwen that in Sindarin, 'estel' was the word for 'hope.' In every language on earth, that she knew of, their word for 'hope' was a woman's name. In English, it was 'Hope; in Spanish, it was 'Esperanza,' and in the Slavic nations it was variations of 'Nadja.' Allison's best theory. . .at least, the one that seemed most likely to her. . .was this 'Estel' was another sister.

She said now, in her halting Elvish, "I. . .all right. Go. See Estel." Elladan and Elrohir looked at her, then at each other. Their expressions said, '_you must be joking_.' Elladan (or was it Elrohir?) met her gaze, then shook his head very, very slowly. Okay. That didn't work. Allison sighed, then slumped back against her pillows. Not that either of them looked particularly convinced by this, either. She wondered what sorts of pranks they pulled while they were growing up. They seemed to know all possibilities. . .and covered them before she could try anything.

Pranks. . .and sneaking out of sickrooms. Elladan. . .well, one twin in particular seemed to know what she was thinking, for he gave her a smug little grin. It said very clearly, '_I know what you're thinking, and you're not getting away with it. I know **all **the tricks_.' The trouble was, from what she heard from Arwen during her time here. . .they probably did know all the tricks. She closed her eyes. Trying to out-think two Elves who had a long history of pranks could give anyone a headache.

"Elrohir. . .Elladan," came an unfamiliar voice from the doorway. Startled, Allison opened her eyes once more, then winced. Damnation, why did just opening her eyes hurt the rest of her body? She squeezed her eyes shut once more, then felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. Allison slowly opened her eyes once more, and this time, she saw an elderly man sitting on the bed beside her. Something she found very strange, since she never felt the bed shift with the weight of another person.

That wasn't the only strange thing. She and the newcomer were the only ones in the room. The twins were gone. When did they leave? She never heard them leave the room! She wished the elves would put bells around their necks. . .like those cowbells! Allison turned her full attention to the man sitting on her bed, her lips still twitching at the mental image of Lord Elrond with a cowbell around his neck.

Mercifully, the newcomer drove that particular mental image straight out of her mind. _Oh. . .my. . .word. I just keep falling deeper into that rabbit's hole!_ The first thing she noticed about him, after his great age, was how intensely blue his eyes were. Bright blue, and they seemed to bore into her very soul. She. . .what the hell? Allison shuddered, sensing a. . .for lack of a better word, a presence inside her head.

She never felt anything like this before, and while her instincts told her that the new presence meant her no harm, her head was screaming at her not to trust this stranger. Allison refused to drop her guard. She looked deeper. . .he looked very, very tired and very, very careworn. His robes were torn in several places, and through the tears, she could see. . . Again, Allison shuddered, pulling back. She didn't want to think about what she might be seeing.

_Do not fear me, little one. I shall never cause you harm_, the presence said gently. Allison would have reared back, were it not for the gentle, restraining hand on her shoulder. How. . .? Did the presence gain admittance while she was distracted? The new presence repeated, _Do not fear me, little one. I seek only to understand. I wish to understand whom you are and from when you came. I am Mithrandir, or Gandalf. Be not afraid._

. . .

He arrived only days after Glorfindel and Frodo, borne away from Orthanc and Saruman by Gwaihir. He arrived, still cursing his own stupidity for not seeing Saruman for what he was much sooner. He arrived and learned that there were other arrivals, in addition to his own. Frodo, for one, and Aragorn, for another. Elrond was tending to Frodo, and Gandalf learned from his long-time friend that three months earlier, a young girl arrived in Rivendell.

However, what intrigued both Elrond and Gandalf was her means of arrival. She literally fell to Rivendell during a freak storm. Upon learning of the date of her arrival, Gandalf cast back his mind, trying to remember if he sensed something strange during that time. He was, after all, a wizard. And much to his surprise, he realized he did feel something odd on the night Elrond specified this Allison arrived. What that meant, exactly, he did not yet know.

During this time, Elrond and the other elves taught the girl Sindarin, while Bilbo taught her Westron. She was making progress, but often struggled with the languages.

Gandalf realized, when he thought about it, that he was relieved to hear the girl was struggling with those languages, when she never spoke them before. If she picked up the language too quickly and too well, it would have made him suspicious. There were enough suspicious occurrences in the world at the moment.

At that top of that list was the re-emergence of the One Ring. The decision about what to do about that would wait until Frodo was better. Gandalf sensed that was the reason for the arrivals. He was here. A contingency of dwarves was here, ostensibly to ask for advice. Piece by piece, the old alliances were being put back together. Would Aragorn be the sole representative of Men? Doubtful. Gandalf was certain that at least one would come from Gondor, and the wizard felt divided about Gondor. There was a part of him that hoped the Steward, Denethor, would send his younger son. The part of him that loved Faramir, however, warned him against such a hope.

For now, there was a frightened, confused young girl who understood not why she was here or how she came to be here. Thus, he followed the directions given him, and quietly dismissed the twins. They wished to see their little brother, for a variety of purposes, and made little protest. With the twins safely out of the room, the wizard turned his attention to calming the agitated girl. No doubt, she was unaccustomed to people who could speak in her mind. It was not something Gandalf did as a general rule. He found it a violation. But in this case, he believed that he was justified. He told her without words, '_Do not fear me, little one. I shall never cause you harm_.'

She jolted, her eyes widening. Gandalf tightened his grip on her shoulder, but only enough to restrain her. In addition, he was mindful of which shoulder he grasped. She was still healing from a broken arm, as well as broken ribs. He repeated, '_Do not fear me, little one. I seek only to understand. I wish to understand whom you are and from when you came. I am Mithrandir, or Gandalf. Be not afraid_.'

There was a trace of petulance in her voice when she replied, '_Easy for you to say! You haven't been tossed into a world that isn't yours, into a place that isn't supposed to exist, with creatures out of myths and fairy tales_!' Gandalf, however, was not displeased. On the contrary, he was actually delighted. The child had a backbone. She was terrified. He could feel her terror. . .it practically emanated from her in waves. But she was standing up to someone she didn't know. That boded well.

As did her next question. She sounded both frightened and awed as she asked, '_How. . .I don't. . .how is it you understand me? I understand you! But I know English isn't spoken here. And I only speak English and Spanish. Bits and pieces of other languages. How is it that you understand me, and I understand you_?' Even better. The child was curious, and her curiosity was overpowering her fear.

'_Here, language matters not. Tell me your name, child. I know you are called 'Allison,' but whom are your parents, and from whence do you come_?' Gandalf asked. He saw suspicion remaining in the girl's eyes. In an odd way, she reminded him of someone, though he could not remember whom. She had not the breath-taking beauty of her boon companion, Lady Arwen. Nor did she have the golden allure of Lady Finduilas, late wife of Denethor.

She was not a queen or a great lady of some land, but perhaps the wife of a Ranger, endowed with a quiet strength and courage. The sort of woman who was so terribly necessary in any time, the sort of woman who kept the world turning, because she provided a quiet haven for those with no other sanctuary. Nay, she was not beautiful, save in the eyes of her husband, if she had one. Her dark hair reached her shoulders, and despite Elrond's assurances that she rested during her time here, there were circles under her hazel eyes.

Those eyes closed now, as if Allison was focusing on the question and on the mental conversation. After a moment, she replied, '_My parents were Aidan and Gillian Norman. My full name is Allison Kathleen Norman. I'm twenty-nine years old, born March 17, 1975. I had one older brother, Michael Andrew Norman, and I was born in River's Dale, Indiana, where I also grew up_.' River's Dale? Most interesting. However, he never heard of this 'Indiana' and he doubted if this year '1975' was from any age he knew. The year was now 3018 of the Third Age. Gandalf closed his eyes, focusing only on what he was receiving from her. He had many questions to ask her.

However, instead of questioning her further on that topic, he asked next, '_Can you show me your time and your world, Allison, daughter of Aidan_?' Gandalf sensed confusion from the girl, but she complied, focusing on what she knew, what was real to her. The wizard actually gasped aloud, seeing the images in her head. He had no words to describe what he saw, and heard, and sensed in what she showed him. Of a certainty, she knew nothing of Mordor.

Which was not to say she knew nothing of pain and grief and loss. She did. In her mind, Gandalf saw why she referred to her brother Michael in the past tense. He saw the murder of her older brother. The murder of one other, and his resemblance to a beloved child of Gandalf's heart threatened to steal the very breath from the wizard's lungs. Flynn, he was called. Flynn, son of Devin and Fiona, brother of Broderick. Coincidence? It was possible. . .not likely. And Gandalf didn't believe in coincidences.

From Allison's memories, he learned that this Flynn was but two-and-twenty when he died. Only four years older than Faramir when the One Ring was found. Gandalf was starting to suspect he knew why the girl was here. He did not know how she arrived, but he suspected the Valar had something to do with it. Trying to remain gentle, trying to avoid frightening the girl, he asked, '_You regret their deaths. . .regret being unable to protect them_?'

A wave of grief and misery swept over him, answering his question. However, Allison replied, '_I do. It's been ten years since my brother and Flynn were murdered. I didn't just lose my best friend and my big brother. I lost my other big brother, and my uncle at the same time. Uncle Devin never forgave himself for allowing things to deteriorate between himself and Flynn. . .he killed himself six months later. And Brody. . .he never forgave me_.'

An image of this Devin, father of Flynn, appeared in Allison's mind. Not surprisingly, it was Denethor. . .a much different Denethor. A Denethor shattered by his youngest son's murder, and by the knowledge that there could be no more second chances. Shattered that he never fully appreciated his wife Fiona's last gift to him. Denethor, without the weight of his own father's example, without the resentment toward Captain Thorongil.

And there was one other tie between Allison's world and Middle-earth. Once more, an image flashed through Allison's mind, and Gandalf felt the grief and the longing in her heart as she thought on her brother. However, this time, Gandalf recognized the face. It shocked him almost as badly as seeing the world and the time that created this young girl. He almost released her due to that shock.

But thousands upon thousands of years of self-control came to his rescue. Three hundred of men's lives had he walked these forests and these cities. He had not yet run out of time, and Gandalf resolved that he would not run out of time here and now. Bilbo swore that she had nothing to do with the One Ring, and Gandalf believed his old friend. The wizard opened his eyes and smiled tenderly at the girl. Tears were rolling down her face from closed eyes, and in her mind, she wept softly, '_I miss him so much. I miss them both so much. Is it wrong, to want a second chance? I don't know why I was sent here. I don't know how I got here, or if I want to go home. I hate my job and they'll probably fire me, and I'm not even sure if I care about that any more. ._ Now she was making no sense, even to herself.

"Peace, child," he soothed. Gandalf was relatively certain he knew why she was brought here. It had to do with this terrible event when she was a child of nineteen. That much was obvious. However, he was not certain what her exact purpose was in Middle-earth, or how she was to fulfill this purpose. She was no warrior. Indeed, based on what he saw in her mind, it seemed unlikely that her brother was a warrior. Nor was she a healer. Further, her body was still recovering from the injuries she attained upon her arrival.

She had nothing to do with the One Ring, though the timing of her arrival would suggest otherwise. And Gandalf thought it wise to keep her away from Aragorn, as well as the Ring itself. She was just as subject to temptation as any one, and the Ring offered one's heart's desire. When he first learned of the girl, he also learned that Elrond was inclined to send her with the dwarves when they left. Gandalf was inclined to agree. There was no place for this girl here in Middle-earth, much less with the Elves. Yes. . .yes, the dwarves would be the best choice.

Poor child. She never would find that second chance she wanted so much. But Gandalf resolved to help her find some measure of peace before she left Rivendell. He could do little else. He was a wizard, indeed. . .but in his long life, he never found a cure for a broken heart.

. . .

Peregrin Took was an exceedingly curious young Hobbit. He, his cousin Merry, and their friend Sam arrived in Rivendell a few days earlier with Strider, the Ranger who saved them not once, but twice from the Nazgul. Even now, Pippin wasn't entirely certain if he trusted Strider. But he saved their lives, and helped to save Frodo's life. . .or, at the very least, bought him time after the attack at Weathertop.

Now Frodo's fate lay in the hands of the Elves, especially the Lord of Rivendell. Sam was sleeping, and Merry was eating. Pippin was of a mood to explore, and that desire became all the stronger after he watched Gandalf retreat into a room that obviously did not belong to Frodo. And how did he know this? Well, Pippin Took made it his business to find out such things. The tweenager crept closer and watched as Gandalf sat beside a lady. She looked tired and sad, and her arm was bound against her side. Pippin barely managed to hide before two tall, dark-haired elves emerged from the lady's room.

Once they were gone, Pippin returned to the door and watched. He wondered if Gandalf was healing the lady, since she was obviously hurt. The old wizard's head snapped up and he turned to look at Pippin. Around him, the tweenager could see that the lady was crying. Pippin could never bear to see someone hurting, and his presence was no longer a secret from the wizard (then, most things weren't). He entered the room, asking, "What's wrong, Gandalf? Why is she crying?"

"She is in pain, Peregrin Took. . .a broken arm, broken ribs, and a broken heart to match," Gandalf said heavily. Pippin drew closer, seeing her more clearly. She looked young. He didn't know why that surprised him so. . .after the last few weeks, little should surprise him. Horrible black horses with horrible riders and shrieks that would curdle the blood of any creature. Strange men and even stranger Elves. That this woman should seem young shouldn't have surprised him.

As if reading his mind, Gandalf explained, "She is young, Pippin. She is the same age as you, nine and twenty. She was brought to this world from her own for reasons unknown to me. Her name is Allison. Do you have other questions?" Actually, Pippin did, but he didn't want to ask them now. The lady. . .Allison, Gandalf called her. . .wiped at her eyes and looked at Pippin curiously. Then she smiled weakly, and held out her good hand to him.

Pippin stepped closer and took her hand. He wasn't sure what to say at first, a highly unusual situation for the tweenager. But after only a moment, he blurted out, "You have pretty eyes!" Allison frowned and looked at Gandalf. The old wizard looked from Pippin to Allison and back again, smiling faintly. Allison, for her part, was staring at Pippin as if she had no idea what he just said. Gandalf was no help, either. Pippin tried again, "Your eyes. . .they're pretty."

He pointed to his own eyes this time, then hers. Allison mouthed the words, and Gandalf took pity on them both. He said, "Speak slowly, Pippin. . .she has only begun to learn Westron." She didn't speak Westron? Then what did she speak? Or perhaps she didn't speak at all. Pippin thought everyone spoke Westron. Then again, nothing was the same as what he once knew, ever since he set out with his cousins and Sam Gamgee.

Still, he said more slowly, "Your eyes. . .they are pretty." This time, Allison smiled, and it made her face light up. Pippin looked at Gandalf, asking, "Allison, it's a strange name. . .what does it mean, Gandalf? Do you know?" For that matter, he wasn't even sure how Gandalf managed to talk with Allison, if Allison didn't know Westron. On the other hand, Gandalf was a wizard. Maybe he had other ways of communicating, without words.

"It means 'truth.' At least, that is one meaning. Tis the one she prefers, as well," Gandalf answered. He looked at Pippin thoughtfully, then asked, "May I trust her safety to you, Peregrin Took? She is a stranger to Middle-earth, and I must see to Frodo's recovery." Pippin nodded. Of course he could be trusted with her safety! He was the son of the Thain, was he not? He would take care of her!

Gandalf pressed two fingers to Allison's forehead, and she closed her eyes. A faint smile touched her mouth, and she nodded. Gandalf removed his fingers, and Allison's eyes opened once more. Gandalf gently caressed the top of her head, then rose to his feet, taking his staff with him. As he walked from the room, the old wizard added, "Mind you do not weary her. . . she is still healing, and needs her rest."

Pippin would have rolled his eyes, but he was half-convinced that Gandalf had those in back of his head. So, instead, he shuffled over to the chair Gandalf just vacated and hopped up, wriggling until he was somewhat comfortable. Allison watched him with a half-smile. He offered her a bright one in answer, saying, "So! I suppose I should tell ye a little about meself. My name is Peregrin Took, but everyone calls me Pippin."

The half-smile gave way to bemusement. _Slowly, Pip_, he reminded himself, _speak slowly_. This time, he repeated, "I. . .am. . .Pippin. Or Pip." This time, Allison smiled more fully, and mouthed, 'Pip.' Well, they were making progress. They knew each other's names.

What to say next? The trouble was, Pippin's mind worked so fast. . .not as fast as his mouth, however, and that was worrisome, indeed. While it seemed that Allison was quite happy to just sit and smile at him reassuringly, the same wasn't true of Pippin. He realized she wasn't from anywhere he ever heard of. . .and he was curious. Insatiably curious. He wanted to know where she came from, how she came here, why she had such a strange name.

"Arwen!" Allison said suddenly, her eyes locking onto the doorway. Pippin turned and his breath caught in his throat. There, in the doorway, was the most beautiful creature he ever saw. She was tall and slender, with silky black hair that hung like a rope down her back, and lovely blue eyes. She smiled, too. . .first at Pippin, then at Allison. There was a fondness in her eyes then. Pippin knew she was Lady Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond. But until now, he didn't know that she and Allison were friends.

"Allison. And you are Peregrin Took, or Pippin, of the Shire. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Arwen," the Lady in question said with a slight bow of her head. Pippin slid out of his chair and sketched a bow. Lady Arwen continued in slightly accented Westron, "Allison struggles with her Westron. If you like, I can translate for you. Sindarin is actually proving to be simpler for her. . . perhaps because she speaks it far more regularly."

"Oh, thank you, m'Lady! I have so many questions for her, I don't know where to start. Does Allison have an Elvish name? You know, since she lives with Elves?" Pippin asked. He winced almost immediately. Of all the stupid questions to ask! Still, Allison was a truly strange name, and he rather liked the idea of the elves giving her another name. A name from Middle-earth, since she lived here now.

"Nay. None of the names suggested are suitable for her, I fear," Lady Arwen answered, sitting on the edge of Allison's bed, then spoke in somewhat slow Sindarin to her companion. Pippin shimmied back up onto the chair as Allison listened intently. She nodded, and answered. Her Sindarin was somewhat halting, and she would pause on occasion, as if trying to think of the right word. But at last, she finished, and the beautiful Elf-Lady said, "Allison has suggested that we make up a name."

"Like what?" Pippin asked. That was something Allison understood, for she grinned unexpectedly. She said something, perhaps in Elvish, and Lady Arwen laughed softly. She squeezed her hand, and Pippin asked somewhat nervously, "What? What's so funny?" He looked from one to the other somewhat suspiciously. They reminded him somewhat of Frodo's Sacksville relatives. But unlike them, there was no malice in the gaze of either woman, only amusement. Like they were laughing with him, not at him. That was all right, then!

"Allison was merely teasing me about asking the same question. We have not yet chosen a name. None seem to suit her, as lovely as they are. As she points out to me time and again, a name must fit its owner. However, when she learned of the woods of Lorien, where my grandparents dwell, Allison told me that in her time, 'Lorien' would be a name given to a child, especially a girl-child," Lady Arwen replied, giving her friend a mock-chastising look when she mentioned the teasing. Allison just smiled impishly.

"Well, that's perfect! You can call her 'Lorien.' Or maybe 'Allorien.' You know, combine 'Allison' and 'Lorien' into one name," Pippin suggested brightly. It was an off-hand comment. He certainly never expected it to be taken seriously. But Lady Arwen frowned thoughtfully and said something in Elvish to Allison. And that lady bit her lower lip, her own expression just as thoughtful.

"Allorien. . .Alorie?" Lady Arwen asked. Pippin watched Allison mouth the name, and then smile. Lady Arwen looked at Pip, saying, "I believe you have created Allison's new name. Alorie, chosen sister of Arwen. Well done, Peregrin Took. . .well done, indeed." Pippin puffed up. And he wasn't even trying! Maybe what he did wasn't important, but Allison. . . Alorie. . . looked a little less sad. Pippin accomplished what he set out to do. Now, he was hungry, and Allison. . .Alorie. . .was no longer alone. It was past elevenses. . .time to find the kitchen!

. . .

Once Peregrin Took was gone, Arwen turned and lightly squeezed her friend's hand. Alorie. It suited the young stranger, far better than any Elvish name Arwen took under consideration. It would take her time, to think of her as 'Alorie,' rather than 'Allison,' but not as much time as it might have. She said aloud, "Alorie." The tiny brunette on the bed smiled at her. . .nay, that was not a smile. She was actually _beaming_.

So rare were Alorie's true smiles that Arwen always caught her breath. In the time since her arrival, All. . .Alorie smiled more and more frequently. The shadow in her eyes remained, but at the same time, those shadows lessened. She seemed to have gained strength. . .not just physically, but in her soul as well. Arwen knew, by this time, that the names Al. . .Alorie spoke when she first arrived were the names of her elder brother, Michael, and a dear friend, Flynn.

They died some years earlier, as a result of an attack by a highwayman. Alli. . .Alorie was nineteen years old at the time. She was but a year younger than Estel when he learned of his true name and his true heritage, and Arwen wondered why she thought about that. She shook her head. Arwen was a grown Elf of more than two thousand years when her mother was grievously injured, and later, sailed to Valinor to seek the healing denied to her here. Yet, even in Elven terms, she was not much older than Alorie was at the time her world shattered.

Arwen fared better. She still had her grandparents, her father, her brothers. Alorie was not totally alone. She had Wendy, who apparently resembled Arwen closely. She had Ava, beloved of Flynn. But less than a year after the murders of Michael and Flynn at the hands of this highwayman, Flynn's father took his own life in despair. . .while Flynn's brother blamed Alorie for his brother's death. He blamed her for living when his brother and friend died.

Or so Alorie said. It was not that Arwen disbelieved her friend. Alorie obviously believed it, and Arwen suspected that Brody believed it for a time, as well. But Arwen, though still young for an Elf, knew Men (and sometimes Elves) said things they did not truly believe, particularly when their hearts were wounded. It was her belief that Brody lashed out at his 'little sister,' and could not bring himself to apologize, once he thought better of his hasty and hurtful words.

But she said none of this to Alorie. The shadows were fading from her friend's eyes, and Arwen would do naught to cause their return. Yes, Alorie was gaining in strength with each day that passed. Mithrandir told her when he left Alorie in the care of Peregrin Took, that despite her obvious terror, she stood up to him. It was a discovery that obviously gave him great delight. Then again, it would. Mithrandir, for all his years, could be just as cheeky and mischievous as her two elder brothers when it suited him.

Soon, Arwen hoped to see more of the real Alorie. Not the sad, frightened child who held herself responsible for the deaths of her brother and friend (beloved? Arwen thought so). There was another Alorie in there. A mischievous young girl who was most likely as imaginative as the twins, particularly with pranks. They would not expect that. But Alorie was a young woman from a different time and a different place. Her mind worked differently, even from the humans of Gondor and Rohan.

"Arwen?" Alorie asked suddenly. The Elven Lady looked at her friend, re-focusing her attention, and Alorie continued in Sindarin, "Is Estel your sister? I heard. . . never heard. . .about another sister?" Estel? Her sister? Where did Alorie get the idea that Estel was a woman, much less Arwen's sister? Alorie went on, "Estel. . .is hope. My people. . . Hope. . .a girl's name. Different?"

As ever, when she was nervous or embarrassed, her Sindarin became halting. But Arwen could guess at what Alorie was asking. She squeezed Alorie's hand, replying, "Estel is the name of my betrothed. His true name is Aragorn. A new name was given to him, to protect him from enemies. Including the Enemy." She did not mention Sauron's name to her friend. Alorie had enough information to process right now.

"Ai, Elbereth!" Alorie squeaked, picking up on the Elvish prayer, and Arwen had to smile. She could understand where Alorie got the idea that 'Estel' was a woman. Thus, she said nothing further, though she knew her brothers would likely tease Alorie, if they were here, to say nothing of Estel. However, they were not. . .and she would not tell them, either. Alorie added after a moment, "Your betrothed? Is that why. . .you are sad, Arwen? These weeks?"

The girl's frustration at her still halting Sindarin was clear in her clenched jaw and the way her hands knotted into fists on the coverlet. Arwen knew better than to call attention to the clenched fists. . .it couldn't be good for her healing arm. Instead, she said softly, "Yes, I have been worried for him. Not sad. But worried. My father worries as well. He raised Estel, after the death of Estel's father. He was but two years old at the time." Sadness replaced the frustration in Alorie's eyes. Smiling, Arwen caressed her cheek with her knuckles.

"I am sorry. I was seven. . .my father left," Alorie revealed. She spoke little of her early life. Mainly of her brother, of Flynn and Brody, and her uncle Devin. Very rarely did she speak of her father and mother. And her expression when she did so convinced Arwen that she had little desire to hear of them. However, the gates of memory were open and Alorie continued, her voice distant, "Mother. . .left us. Her soul."

Arwen said nothing, being somewhat familiar with it. It was not precisely that her mother's soul left them. But she could not heal from her wounds in Imladris. She could heal in Valinor, she could become whole once more. Still, Arwen could understand her friend's grief. And there was anger as well. Arwen and her brothers were fully grown when their mother sailed to Valinor. Alorie and her brother were still very young, particularly Alorie.

"I. . .learn. . .that it is possible to die. Of a broken heart. Mother die of a broken heart. Uncle Devin, too," Alorie went on. When she wasn't struggling with Sindarin vocabulary, she found it hard to remember the difference between the past and present in her speech. One or two elves made fun of her. . .very young elves. The aforementioned elves learned that angering Lady Arwen was as unwise as angering her father.

Alorie was, in this way, much wiser than some of her elven counterparts. Though they were at least a few centuries older than the human, twas the human who understood just how dangerous an essentially gentle person could be when enraged. Alorie's statement was passing strange, a saying from her own time, but when she explained it, it made sense. Twas necessary to be wary of the quiet ones. However. . .that was not how Alorie said it.

Arwen was silent for a few moments, trying to decide how to answer Alorie's statement. At last, she replied, "People can, indeed, die of broken hearts. As can Elves." Alorie looked at her with sudden interest, and Arwen went on, "Tis difficult for me to explain, but such things are not unknown among my kin. Please, do not be too angry with your mother." Even as she spoke, however, she realized how foolish that sounded.

Alorie was nine and twenty, a grown woman among Men, but where her mother was concerned, she was still a girl of seven. A child, and would likely be for some time. Arwen wished she could aid her friend in this. But Arwen herself still missed her mother, after all these years. How, then, could she judge Alorie for her grief and anger toward her mother? She could not. Arwen put her hand on her friend's shoulder.

"I am sorry. I do not wish to wound you further," she said after a moment, and Alorie just smiled, raising her shoulders slightly. As if it mattered not to her, but Arwen knew it did. The Elven Lady went on, "Will you tell me more of your brother? Of Michael? What was he like?" As ever, mention of Michael brought a bittersweet smile to Alorie's face, and Arwen realized with every use of the new name, it grew easier to think of her as such.

"Michael. . .was handsome. And smart. And funny. And he loved me," Alorie replied, her eyes lighting up as she spoke. Arwen said nothing. This was the first information she really had of Michael, and she had no desire to interrupt her friend.

Alorie continued, her command of Sindarin returning to her as she relaxed, "He was a teacher, you see? A great teacher, loved by his students. And he could always make me laugh, no matter how angry or scared or hurt I was. He. . .and Brody." Now her eyes were saddened. Arwen smiled inwardly. Though her words were Sindarin, she was a Human, and thought as one. But it mattered little, for Alorie was talking to her of the ones whose loss shattered her.

Alorie looked down at the coverlet for a moment, then into Arwen's eyes, saying, "His hair was black and always at the same length, reaching his jaw line. I loved it like that. He looked so much more attractive like that. I loved it, and so did Wendy. She would tell him, tell him that he could pass for a knight of old. He had this lovely little beard, and his eyes were so beautiful. Blue and gray at the same time. It used to frustrate me, because my brother was so beautiful, and I was not. I was just. . .me."

Arwen almost told her that just Alorie was good enough, but the girl wasn't finished. She smiled, giving an odd little laugh, as she continued, "I always used to tease Flynn, tell him that he should do the same. Let his hair grow out, and develop a beard. He was so handsome, just as he was, but I knew he would be even more so. He had red hair, did I ever tell you that? Red hair. . .red hair and blue eyes. And his smile. . ."

She stopped, tears sparkling in her hazel eyes as she repeated, "His smile. . .Flynn." Her voice broke, and Arwen could endure no more. She drew Alorie into her arms, and let the girl sob out her grief. She knew her friend never truly let herself grieve for the loss of her brother and beloved. For Alorie DID love Flynn. It was obvious to all who listened to her. Loved Flynn just as Arwen loved Aragorn.

She only had to think of losing Aragorn, as Alorie lost Flynn, as she still might lose Aragorn, and it was enough for Arwen to tighten her arms around Alorie. She wished with all her heart that she could take this pain from her friend, from her new sister. . .but she could not. Instead, she gave whatever strength she had to Alorie. She whispered in Quenya, knowing that Alorie could not understand her, "Weep, my sister. Weep and be free at last."

. . .

So this was Rivendell. . .Imladris. Faramir would know such things. Indeed, it was only through his little brother that Boromir of Gondor knew it. The Captain-General smiled faintly, though sadly, as he thought of Faramir. His brother would have loved Imladris. By all rights, it should have been Faramir here. It was his dream, after all, a dream that Boromir later had as well. And he was more of a diplomat that Boromir. But their father insisted, during a confrontation that left him burning with rage even now. Aye, Boromir wished to take the perils of this journey upon himself, but not like that!

Why did their father do these things? All his life, all Faramir ever truly wanted was his father's love and acceptance, since he gave up on Denethor's approval years earlier. He was a fine soldier. . .beloved by his men, who were ferociously protective of him. Indeed, Boromir was certain that they were just as protective of Faramir as he was himself. They were quieter about it, certainly, for none wanted Faramir to think they believed him incompetent.

But it was still there. Boromir whispered to the still air, "Would that you could see this through my eyes, little brother. Would that I had the words to tell you." If he closed his eyes, he could almost see his brother at his side. Tall and slender, his red hair sometimes falling into his eyes. And that hint of mischief in his brother's blue eyes. For all his scholarly achievements, Faramir had a mischievous streak as great as the Anduin.

So many times, he wanted his father to see Faramir through his own eyes, just as he now longed for Faramir to see this land through his eyes. And yet, those damnable words kept coming back to him, '_Do not trouble me with Faramir. . .I know his uses, and they are few_!' The words made Boromir's blood run hot in his veins. His father did not wish to see, the Captain-General thought, and that would cost Gondor greatly.

It already cost his family dearly. His brother and his father were all Boromir had remaining to him, save his uncle, brother of his mother, and he wished they were closer. But every time Denethor, son of Ecthelion, looked at his younger son, he saw his late wife Finduilas. That was why Boromir did not understand. . .he knew his father adored his mother. Why, then, did he turn his back on Finduilas' final gift to him?

And that was what Faramir was! He was a gift, a jewel, as his name implied! Was that why his father refused to see? Fear that he would allow Faramir truly into his heart, only to lose him, as he lost their mother? Boromir didn't know what to think about his father's relationship with his brother. The blond haired Captain-General took a deep breath, looking around. Right now, his first priority had to be Gondor and this riddle. His brother was thirty-five years old, an experienced Ranger and Captain. He had to have faith in Faramir.

The man led his horse into the stables indicated to him by one of the elves. He knew not their names, and truly, they all looked the same. He had not been here long enough to know the difference. At this point, they were 'the blond elves,' 'the dark-haired elves,' and even a few 'red-haired elves.' As Boromir cared for his horse, he thought over the last one hundred ten days. Nearly four months passed since his departure from Gondor.

What if it was too late? Four months could, in some cases, be a very long time. It could mean the difference between life and death. For Gondor, which was quickly losing strength, it could mean the difference between strength and the shadow. Hope was not something with which Boromir was familiar. It was not something with which his people were familiar. Especially now, when his father's rule was failing. It was hard for Boromir to admit it, but when he was alone. . . when there was no one to hear. . .how could he do otherwise?

He finished caring for his horse, then stepped out into the sunlight. It went far in chasing away the darkness and fear in his soul. Boromir tilted his head back, allowing the sun to fall on his face. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, wincing a little as he re-adjusted his head so that he wasn't looking into the sun. As he did, Boromir caught sight of a small figure, sitting not too far away, under a tree. Curious, he approached the figure. As he drew closer, he could see a dark head bent as if reading.

Boromir bit back a smile, for it reminded him of Faramir when his brother was much younger. He drew yet closer and now heard the stranger's voice. Two things occurred to him. First, the stranger was a female. Secondly, while Boromir knew little Elvish (or Sindarin, as it was properly called, according to his brother), he knew just enough to realize that was what the woman was speaking.

She looked up as his shadow fell over her, and quite surprisingly, she didn't look frightened. More like. . .surprised. She felt safe here. Boromir knelt before her, saying, "My greetings to you, my Lady. Forgive the intrusion." As he raised his head to look at her, the mild surprise gave way first to confusion, then to shock. Her face was ashen and Boromir, concerned that she was recovering from illness, reached out to her.

"She knows not Westron, Boromir, son of Denethor," came a familiar voice behind him. Boromir turned his head to look at the newcomer. Mithrandir, also known as Gandalf the Grey, and the man who was more of a father to Boromir's younger brother than the man who sired them both. Boromir was both grateful to, and resentful toward, the wizard. He was grateful that Faramir had this wizard's love. . .and he resented the ancient one for perhaps causing more damage to his family.

Mithrandir continued, "Her Sindarin is considerably better than her Westron. And, I fear, you closely resemble someone whom she knows." Boromir looked back at the unknown woman. Now, he could see that she was quite young, perhaps twenty-five or twenty-six to his forty. And she was staring at him, her face still very pale. There was something new in her eyes as well. Fear? But why would she fear him?

Unless it was something to do with Mithrandir's rather cryptic remark, that Boromir closely resembled someone whom she knew. There was another question. What language did she speak, then, if she spoke not Westron? Mithrandir's words implied that she was learning Sindarin, and as he gazed at her, Boromir realized for the first time that this was not an elven lady at all. . .but a human.

A human? A Woman, in Rivendell, among the elves? A Woman who spoke not Westron, nor presumably old Rohirric. She had not the usual coloring of Gondor. . .then again, nor did Boromir and Faramir, both of whom inherited their mother's light coloring. She did have the dark hair, but rather than the normal gray, her eyes were more of a greenish-brown. Which meant it was unlikely that she was Rohirrim, either, as most denizens of Rohan were blond.

"How did she come to be here? A Woman among Elves, a Woman who speaks very little Westron, or any similar dialect? Did you bring her here, Mithrandir?" Boromir questioned, looking over his shoulder at the wizard once more. Seventeen years earlier, the ancient one came to Gondor, seeking access to the ancient archives and the help of Boromir's brother. Both were given by Denethor, albeit begrudgingly.

Denethor never made a secret of his distrust toward Mithrandir. For his own part, Boromir was wary of wizards. . .magicians of any kind. He was drawn from questions about Mithrandir's allegiance when the young woman put her hand on his cheek, drawing his attention back to her. It was a rather forward action, and Boromir was surprised. No less surprised, he realized, looking at the girl, than she was herself. Her mouth worked a bit, then she finally whispered what sounded like "Broe-dee."

Mithrandir repeated as Boromir saw the shock in the girl's eyes turn to grief, "I told you. You closely resemble someone whom she knows. . .and loves." Tears were trickling down her cheeks, as she mouthed that name again. Mithrandir said, "His name was passing strange, as hers is. Broderick, son of Devin. Brody, they called him, and he was as a brother to her. Until he lost his own brother. . .and she lost hers."

Boromir's blood ran cold. But he could never leave a woman in distress. He put his hand to her wet cheek, wincing a little at the streak of dirt he left on her face. And speaking as slowly as he could, Boromir told the girl in Westron, "I mean not to distress you, little one. I am Boromir, son of Denethor. I am truly sorry for your loss. . .I cannot imagine ever losing my brother." Nor did he wish to.

He did not know if the girl understood any of what he just said. However, she put her hand over his and replied, "Allison. . .Alorie." That, then, was her name. Perhaps 'Alorie' was her Elvish name, though Boromir never heard of an elf named 'Alorie.' That proved little. Boromir helped her to her feet. . .at least, that was his intention. He did not notice, until it was too late, that her arm was broken. She gave a little cry, and Boromir simply reacted. He scooped her into his arms and carried her in the direction of a nearby dwelling. Mithrandir walked at his side, strangely silent.

. . .

Arwen had little time with Aragorn today, between conferences with her ada and conferences with her brothers. This morning, she told her father and brothers about the name Pippin Took 'created' for Allison the day before, and all three agreed that Alorie, while not an Elvish name, was far more suited to this world and to their guest. There was still light in the world, even as the Shadow continued its creep across the lands.

In truth, she had little time with Alorie today, either. Arwen was needed as the first of the ancient allies arrived. She knew not who would represent the Nations of Men. Not Estel, for he continued to reject his kingly birthright. Nor did she know who would represent the dwarves. Though the misunderstanding with Thranduil was resolved years earlier, years of distrust and anger remained between her own people and the dwarves.

She was on her way back to her rooms when an unfamiliar Man strode through the halls, Mithrandir trailing behind him. And in the strange man's arms reclined Alorie. Arwen's distress was ignited by the way Alorie cradled her broken arm against her chest. Mithrandir smiled and said in Westron, "Ah, my Lady Arwen. . .would you be so good as to escort Lord Boromir to Alorie's chambers? I fear her broken arm was jostled."

"Of course. . .this way, please," Arwen answered agreeably, and led the man named 'Boromir' to the room where Alorie recuperated during the last few months. Her young friend gave her a wan smile that was doubtlessly intended to ease her mind. Boromir gently lay Alorie down on her bed. He was a large man, big and broad-shouldered, but he treated Alorie with a tenderness that implied he either had children. . . or younger siblings.

"Lady Arwen, this is Lord Boromir, son of Denethor, and Captain-General of Gondor. Lord Boromir, this is Lady Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond," Mithrandir said as Boromir straightened up. Arwen used that time to study him. He was, as she already noted, a big man. He had dark blond hair that fell into his eyes in a most endearing way, and those eyes were a blue-green color. Arwen smiled and inclined her head.

"Mae govannen, Lord Boromir. You have already been introduced to my chosen sister, Alorie, I understand," Arwen greeted. The man bowed to her, and the Elven Lady continued, "I thank you for bringing her back. . .she is quite dear to me, and still learning her own limitations as her body heals." This was said with a mock-glower at her human friend. Alorie crossed her eyes at Arwen, drawing an exasperated sigh from the Lady and laughter from Boromir.

"You do, indeed, behave as sisters," he observed, still chuckling. Arwen looked at him, privately thinking, that answers one question. Boromir continued, "I have a younger brother. I am well acquainted with the cheek of younger siblings." He winked at Alorie as he spoke, and she actually giggled. Arwen blinked in amazement. Not once in the three months since her arrival had Alorie giggled. Not even at Bilbo, who could be quite amusing.

Just as quickly, Alorie's expression changed and her eyes grew wistful. She murmured, 'Brody,' and Boromir said, "That is the second time she has said that." Brody? Brody, Flynn's. . .Flynn's older brother. Oh, now she understood! Boromir continued with a slightly suspicious look toward Mithrandir, "I am told I closely resemble one whom she loves dearly."

"Brody. . .yes," Arwen answered, privately wondering about the Man's suspicion of Mithrandir, and the ancient wizard's calm resignation of that suspicion. She knew that Denethor, the man's father, regarded her own father's old friend with great suspicion. Perhaps that was passed along to Boromir. Well, that was neither here nor there. She said, "Lord Boromir, since you are from Gondor, we have something that I believe shall interest you. . .the shards of Narsil."

Boromir of Gondor was quickly distracted from his resemblance to Alorie's Brody when she mentioned Narsil. His green eyes lit up, and she added, "Let me make certain Alorie is well and I will escort you there. Unless you wish to bathe and rest first?"

Boromir of Gondor looked at Alorie with a mischievous grin, saying in a loud whisper, "I think the lady is politely telling me that I need to bathe." To Arwen's amusement, Alorie wrinkled her nose and nodded in agreement. Boromir laughed aloud, adding, "Aye, my lady, on that I cannot argue. I have accumulated much dust and sweat during my journey. A bathe would be _most_ agreeable to me."

Alorie was shooing her toward the door with her good hand, no doubt hoping to distract Arwen from examining her broken arm. Arwen, however, had two mischievous older brothers, and she well knew the tricks. . .especially when someone did not wish to be examined. Arwen added with a smile, "You have a younger brother, as you say. . .you are well-acquainted with the cheek of younger siblings."

Boromir was no fool. He caught on immediately. With a bow, he replied, "It would be my honor, Lady Arwen." The Man moved to the bed. Alorie, while her Westron was still faltering, could still read people's expressions. . .and actions. She looked warily first at Arwen, then at Boromir, then began to shimmy back against the pillows, as if trying to make herself smaller. It worked not at all.

She cast an imploring glance at Mithrandir, who said, "Well, since the two of you have this well in hand, I shall check on Frodo. Farewell, Alorie!" He was out the door when a frustrated Alorie stuck her tongue out at her, but said without turning around, "Do that again, child, and I will turn your tongue into something much less pleasant." Alorie returned her tongue to its proper place, still glaring at Mithrandir's back. Arwen held back a laugh. . .though just barely. So, this was what she was missing, all these years, having a little sister? She would make up for lost time now!


	5. I Will Find You

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! I wanted to get this posted, since would be down tomorrow, Monday, and part of Tuesday. I'm leaving Wednesday for Pennsylvania. . .spending Thanksgiving with my brother and his family. Yea! I haven't seen my big brother in almost a year. . . so yeah, I'm definitely looking forward to this.

I apologize for the delay, and thank everyone for their patience. A full explanation for my silence during the last month will come with the next chapter. For now, let me get to a quick author's note, then the reviews. This is less an author's note, and more a warning. There are references to female issues in this chapter in particular (and in later chapters). Nothing graphic, but let's face it. . .it's something Allison would have to deal with it. Just wanted everyone to be aware of it, because not everyone is comfortable with these things. That said, onto the reviews.

LalaithCat: Yippee, I did right by Boromir! Honestly, I don't get where the sexist pig idea comes from. He certainly didn't seem that way to me in the movie. . .I'm still slugging my way through the books, but I've seen little to indicate that in the books, either. Aragorn's reaction to Allison's confusion is included in this chapter, upon request. Glad you like Allison's new name, but it will take her time to get used to it.

Crecy: So glad you like it! Using the same letter for the reincarnations (D for Denethor, F for Faramir, et al) is standard for modern fics, but it avoids confusion. Sorry for the delay, but I've had other obligations demanding my attention.

Mat: Or should I call you Elenhin? (smiles) Thank you very much for your review. . .I'm glad Flynn was a believable modern teen Faramir. And Boromir/Brody. . .I don't see much fun in writing the reincarnations as exact replicas of their previous selves. They aren't the same people, they've had different experiences. . .it makes no sense that they would be exactly the same. Something I explore in this chapter, and in later chapters. Especially now that Brody and Wendy have pulled a fast one (rolls eyes).

Kelly: Isn't Alorie a pretty name? I'm not sure where I heard it, but Allison claimed it for her Middle-earth name, and wouldn't be dissuaded. Not entirely sure that you can say that Allison was Flynn's lover. . .she certainly loved him, but it wasn't reciprocated in the same way. Elf-boy. . .I'd say Elf-boy is middle-aged in Elf standards. Glad the telepathic conversation between Gandalf and Allison worked. I had concerns about that. I will try to update my Pirates story after I get back from Pennsylvania, since I had a new thought regarding that story. The characters like to change things on me in mid-stream (exasperated look)

Sailor Elf: Boromir doesn't look exactly like Brody, but the resemblance is enough to rattle Allison pretty good. I'm sorry about the delay, both last time and this time. I'll explain in the next update, promise.

Terreis: Of course Faramir had failings. I wouldn't love him if he didn't. As my oldest nephew said when we discussed it, perfection is an imperfection in and of itself. (He's twenty and talks like he's thirty-five sometimes. . .scary. I find myself wondering if that's what Faramir was like at that age). Glad Boromir sounded right. . .I was nervous about that. And Pippin. . .Pippin pretty much wrote that section between him and Allison. My fingers, his voice. And how can I tell him no? Gandalf is also a lot of fun to write. . .he and Gimli are a lot alike, when I stopped and thought about it. Both have gruff exteriors and gentle hearts where the ones they love are concerned.

Chapter Four

I Will Find You

"Hope is your survival,

a captive path I lead.

No matter where you go,

I will find you.

If it takes a long long time.

No matter where you go,

I will find you

if it takes a thousand years.'

'_I Will Find You_,' Clannad (_Last of the Moh_icans soundtrack)

_River's Dale, Indiana, 2004_

Detective Brody Hurley finished his search of the apartment. None of this made sense. There were no signs of a struggle, no signs of a forced entry. No blood. Her car was out in front, she never reported to work, and all of her clothes were here. Her luggage was neatly stored in her closet, though maybe that should worry Brody. Allison was not the neatest person in the world. Her room, even now, looked like a disaster area.

A knock at the door alerted Brody that someone was checking up on Allie. Robin was still checking the bathroom, so Brody warily opened the door, still wearing his latex gloves. And barely suppressed a groan of sheer frustration as he found three women standing on the other side. Wendy Stryder asked, her violet eyes narrowed with concern, "Have you found her? Is she all right?" Delia Conover and Ava Edmunds said not a word, but they were as anxious as Wendy. That right there wasn't promising. . .Ava wasn't saying anything.

"Brode, I. . .SIS! I told you, I would call you when we finished here!" Robin exclaimed, obviously exasperated at his younger sister's inability to listen. Ava folded her arms over her chest, glaring right back. If Brody wasn't so worried about Allie, he would have found the brewing argument between the brother and sister hysterically funny. The banter between Michael and Allie was always amusing, but these two could take their act on the road.

Ava was about as amused as Brody was. She retorted, "That was hours ago, Rob! You're telling me that you not only haven't found Allie, you don't even know what happened to her? What kind of a cop are you?" She just had to say that. Brody closed his eyes, mentally counting to ten so he wouldn't strangle Ava with her own hair. And then he could prevent Rob from doing the same, although given the look on his partner's face before Brody closed his eyes, he rather thought that Rob was dangerously close to strangling Ava. . .with her own intestines.

"Stop it, both of you! Ava, they can't find Allie if they have no clues. You know that, you're a cop's sister! And I'm assuming you have no clues," Wendy broke in, sounding extremely irritated. Brody opened his eyes and shook his head, rubbing at his aching temples. Wendy's jaw clenched at the confirmation, but she continued calmly, "All right. Tell me what kind of help do you need?"

"Make sure you don't touch anything. . .it's bad enough that you're here. Running the risk of contaminating a possible crime scene. I need lists. . .people from work, people with whom she's had contact during the last few weeks. Sometimes, an outsider has a better perspective. Oh, and get bratchild out of here before her brother decides to strangle her, and I forget that my job description is 'protect and serve.' I don't like people who call my abilities into question, much less someone who should know better. Oh, and I don't think I need to tell any of you three not to talk to the media?" Brody asked, glaring at Ava.

She had the grace to blush and dip her head in acknowledgement. Satisfied that his point was made, Brody continued, "I can also make you this promise. We will find her, and we will bring her home. Mrs Conover, I need something from you as well. . .you helped to get her that job at the factory. They. . .her supervisors, I mean. . .may be more willing to talk to you. If you're willing, I'd like you to play informant."

"Whatever it takes," came Delia Conover's steely reply. Wendy steered a protesting Ava out of the apartment, the former glancing over her shoulder at Brody apologetically. Robin nodded to his partner, then returned to his search of Allison's bathroom. Brody really didn't expect his partner to find anything, but they had to be thorough. Delia Conover said quietly, "You don't trust me, but you're willing to trust me to help find Allie."

"It isn't you I don't trust. . .it's your bastard husband. He murdered my little brother and my best friend, Mrs Conover. It's wrong, but it's hard to forget that. And right now, the past isn't nearly as important as the future. I screwed up, I screwed up big time, and Allie is paying for that screw-up. Just like my father did. There's nothing I can do for my father now. But if I have anything to say about it, nothing else will hurt her. Whatever it takes," Brody replied, using her own words against her.

Delia smiled unexpectedly, answering, "Maybe it's wrong, but at least you're honest. I'll help you, Detective Hurley. We can't bring back Flynn or Michael, but there's still a chance with Allie. I'll head over to the factory now." She started to leave, then stopped just past the threshold of the door, adding, "Have faith in her, Detective. No matter what she thinks of herself, Allie is a strong woman. She came through Flynn and Michael's deaths reasonably intact. She'll find her way back to us."

With that, she turned and left quietly. Brody said softly, "I hope so." He looked at another picture, a larger one, taken maybe a year earlier. There were some silver strands in Allie's dark hair. But she wasn't even thirty yet. . .it wasn't fair, dammit! This new picture showed Allison with the rest of her little posse. Her arms were around Delia and Wendy, hands resting on each shoulder.

In spite of his worry, he couldn't help smiling. She had short fingernails, even as a kid. Ava used to tease her about that, particularly before Flynn died. She liked getting a rise out of the younger teen for some reason. Probably because Robin was right, about his sister's jealousy of someone who knew Flynn a lot longer than she did. Funny. He hadn't thought of that in years. And maybe it was a strange thing, to be paying attention to Allie's hands and fingernails.

But he hadn't looked at his little sister in years. She wasn't here now. And Brody wanted to focus every detail in his mind. The nails were cut nearly to the quick, and the skin on the back of her hand was abraded. She worked in a factory. . .that was to be expected. But it still looked painful to Brody. . .red, abraded, and painful. He touched her face, murmuring, "I won't let go so easily this time, baby girl. One way or another, I will find you. You can count on that, take it to the bank, whatever phrase you wanna use. We will get you back. I promise."

With that one last touch to her face, Brody called over his shoulder, "Rob! I'm heading along the hall, to talk to the neighbors. Call the techs in when you're done. Dust for fingerprints, whatever has to be done." His partner called back an assent, and Brody left the apartment without a look backward. He had done too much of that. It was time he looked forward, because he had a feeling that was the only way he would get her back.

"On a scale of one to ten, ten being the highest rating, I'd have to rate that a thirteen on the stupid scale. What in the hell were you thinking, Ava?" Wendeline Rose Stryder growled as she swept down the hall, Ava Edmunds and Delia Conover in tow. She heard an inhale, as if Ava meant to answer her, but Wendy didn't give her the opportunity. Instead, she continued, "In the first place, I should have never let you talk me into coming over here."

"We had no way of knowing that she disappeared and we were walking into a crime scene, Wendy," Delia said reasonably. The older woman was right, she knew she was right, but at this particular moment, Wendy really didn't care. Her 'little sister' was missing, and while Ava was just as worried as she was, pissing off their two best hopes of finding Allie was not the wisest idea in the world. Delia continued, "On the other hand, she has a point, Ava. That was not one of your smarter ideas."

"I know, I know! You know how I get when I'm worried. . .I shoot my mouth off first, and think later. I'll apologize to my brother tonight. Do you two have any ideas where we should start? I mean, the only person I ever heard Allie mention from work was that jerk who is dancing right along the edge of a harassment complaint. You know the one I mean, the one she once called a 'wanker.' Right while we were eating pizza," Ava pointed out.

Wendy barely managed to suppress a grin at that. She was actually being polite when she called the guy a 'wanker.' Delia murmured, "That might not be a bad idea, but there's one problem with the idea that he has something to do with her disappearance. . .I did some looking around. No sign of forced entry. And he would have to force entry into her apartment, because there's no way Allie would let him into her apartment."

Delia was right. As much as Allie hated him, there was no way in the world she would ever allow him into her apartment. Ava muttered something very nasty under her breath, then tried again, asking, "Okay, what about this, then? She's been kidnapped by space aliens, because that's about as likely as anything else, and. . .OW!" Wendy turned in time to see Ava press her hand to her side, glaring at Delia at the same time.

"Don't. . .start. Just don't start. I really don't need to hear about space aliens or little voices inside your head. I got enough of that from Saul," Delia retorted. Wendy flinched. Like Ava, she had forgotten that, although it was something that Delia lived with every day. In the months before murdering Flynn and Michael, Saul Conover often mentioned hearing voices. It was those voices which led him to stake out the convenience store where Flynn worked.

And it was those voices that led him to kill Flynn and Michael. The voices told him that the two had to die. They learned these things during the trial, and it only enraged Allie further. The bastard would get off. . .the lawyer was using the insanity plea. Except, it didn't work out like that. The jury was unconvinced that he was really crazy. . .although, the fact that he stole the money out of the register after shooting Flynn might have had something to do with it.

The media, however, was another story. . .Allison, still reeling from the deaths of her brother and dear friend, was caught in a media firestorm. Saul Conover was just an innocent victim, according to the media. Some reporters went so far as to accuse Allie of 'letting' Flynn and Michael die. Morons. What did they expect her to do? Flynn died instantly, the coroner said later. And the bullet tore through Michael's lung. There was nothing she could have done. For either of them, but that didn't stop the reporters from playing Monday morning quarterback. Jackasses. They weren't there. . . and Allie was a nineteen year old college student. She had no idea how to deal with crazies!

And that was far more devastating. A person could learn from mistakes, learn what not to do. But what happened when there was nothing to be done? Nothing, except not go to the convenience store in the first place? No one could have saved Michael. No one could have saved Flynn. There was no lesson to be learned. . .except what complete and utter bastards the press were. On the other hand, there were moments to be enjoyed.

Such as the return of the 'guilty' verdict. Such as Ava when she punched out one reporter for asking her if she blamed Allie for failing to save Flynn's life. Unfortunately, neither the guilty verdict, nor the immense pleasure of seeing that bimbo hit the ground, could bring Flynn and Michael back from the dead. For ten years, Wendy devoted herself to taking care of her boyfriend's sister. It was what Michael would have wanted.

And through the years, as Allison stabilized herself, she returned the favor, taking care of Wendy when she could. . .and when the older girl would let her. As the three headed back to Delia's car, Ava asked their friend, "Is it possible that one of your husband's cronies arranged for Allie to be kidnapped? He's out of appeals, and this could be a last attack against the one he couldn't kill ten years ago."

Delia shook her head, replying, "I doubt it. Anything is possible, of course, but I really don't think that's the case. The simple truth is, Saul has gone so downhill during the last year or so, I don't think he even knows the difference between reality and fantasy. He doesn't recognize me, nor does he recognize pictures of Allison when she's pointed out to him." She paused, then added in a choked voice, "There's nothing left of the man I married."

Wendy stopped and turned to put her hand on Delia's shoulder, saying softly, "I'm sorry." It was lame, really. She didn't even know why she was saying the words. Was she apologizing to the older woman for all the times she blamed Delia for her husband's sins. . .or was she just sorry that even now, ten years after her husband destroyed their lives, Delia was still paying for something she didn't do?

That was a question to which Wendy didn't have the answer. Delia smiled weakly, and said, "In a way, it's a relief, you know? Because the Saul Conover I married would have never done that. Flynn and Michael, the man who killed them. . . that's not the man I married. When the execution finally goes through. . .it'll be a relief. It'll finally be over, and Saul will be at peace. Maybe then, we all can find our own peace."

Personally, Wendy had her doubts about that, but she wasn't about to rob Delia of whatever slim comfort she could find. Saul Conover's descent into madness angered and frustrated Wendy, because now there was no one there to tell her 'why.' Why the man she loved was now six feet under ground, why a sweet young man with his whole life ahead of him would never accomplish any of his dreams.

As a psychologist herself, Wendy knew there were no easy answers, especially where criminals were concerned. . .and sometimes, there were no answers at all. It didn't make it any easier. In fact, it made it harder.

And there was something else. While she would never admit it to either of her companions, Wendy blamed herself for Allie's disappearance. It was Wendy who directed Allie to that bitch therapist. She didn't think it was a good idea to be Allie's psychologist. She was afraid she would allow their friendship to blur the lines. But looking back now, maybe that would have been better than to send her to someone who would deliberately undermine her, just to make herself feel needed.

No more guilt, she told herself, guilt won't bring Allie back. Focus on the task at hand. Still, even as she got in the car, Wendy couldn't help but wonder. Ever since his arrest ten years earlier, moments after Michael died, Saul Conover maintained that his name was 'Saruman,' a great and powerful wizard. He called Michael 'Aragorn' and Flynn 'Faramir,' saying they had to die. What caused Conover's mental breakdown, and why did those three names sound so familiar to Wendy?

Well, she would figure that sooner or later. Right now, she, Delia and Ava had a missing sister to find. . .or rather, Brody and Robin did. And they couldn't do that if Ava was constantly underfoot. Ava meant well, but half the time, she ended up making things worse. It was true ten years earlier, and it was true now. She became worse after Flynn's death. . .Ava never blamed Allie for that. She blamed herself.

It was the classical case of 'what if.' What if I was there that week, instead of the following week. It was also a certain recipe for disaster. Sooner or later, Ava would go too far. She would push Robin too far, or get herself arrested. Delia and Wendy were able to protect her, but only so much. She was a grown woman, after all. And they couldn't be there all the time. When Ava crossed the line, and it was just a matter of time before that happened, Wendy feared all she could do was pick up the pieces.

That was all she could do for Ava, but it was better than this situation. There was absolutely no way for her to help Allie. They didn't even know where their missing sister was. She, too, was a grown woman. She might be beyond their aid. In which case, all Wendy Stryder could do. . .was trust that her little sister was as strong as Wendy thought she was.

Her name was Aveline Theodosia Edmunds, and from her earliest memories, she hated her name. Fortunately for her, her older brother Robin saw fit to call her 'Ava,' as he couldn't pronounce 'Aveline' properly. That didn't prevent people from using her real name, especially in high school, when the bullies crawled out of the wood-work. On more than one occasion, she heard whispers of '_Call her 'Aveline.' She hates that_.'

In truth, she had little use for human beings, outside her own family, until she met Flynn Hurley more than thirteen years earlier. She was eighteen at the time, competing in equestrian events at the local college. It was there that she met Michael Norman. Looking back at the events of that time, Ava could only blush with embarassment and more than a little shame. He was handsome. . .everyone agreed upon that. . .and kind.

And something deep inside Ava told her that she knew this man. He seemed so terribly familar to her. As if they met before, but Ava knew for a fact that it was impossible. It was her first time in River's Dale. . .indeed, it was her first time outside of Kentucky, where her uncle Dennis ran a horse farm. Many times, her brother asked her to come for a visit, since he was on the local police force, but she had other things she wanted to do that weekend.

For six months after that first meeting, Ava pursued Michael. She ignored Robin's warnings. . .she ignored the territorial attitude of his annoying little sister. She even ignored her brother's partner, Brody, who was also Michael's best friend, when he warned her that Michael was spoken for. His fiancee Wendy was in Europe, finishing up her second Master's Degree. Ava paid little attention to the details, at least at the time. Wendy Stryder was in Europe, and to the hormonely-charged eighteen year old, that meant that Michael Norman was fair game.

To this day, Ava preferred not to think about the confrontation that resulted when she realized that Michael would never love her the way she thought she loved him. It was an ugly scene, and Ava behaved like a child. She could freely admit that now. What was much harder for her to admit was just how surreal it felt at the time. As if she went through something like this in the past. It was as much due to that surreal feeling as her own hurt pride that she did something stupid. Several stupid things, in fact.

One night, about three weeks after the confrontation with Michael and Allison, Ava didn't pay attention where she was going. It could have cost her life. Instead, it brought Brody Hurley's little brother Flynn into her life, forever changing it. He was handsome and gentle, listening as she spewed her venom against his brother, against her own, against Michael, against Allison, against Wendy.

She didn't know he was Brody's brother. Not during that first meeting. It took about three or four meetings to discover that. Instead, once she finished her venting, Flynn would be silent for several moments, then start talking about his friends, Mike and Allie. For some reason, it never occurred to her that he meant Michael and Allison. After all, Allie could have been short for 'Alicia' or 'Alexandra.'

They lost their parents years earlier. . .their father left when Mike was seventeen and Allie seven. Their mother's body remained with them , but her soul was another story. Care of his little sister fell increasingly to Mike, though he was in the process of graduating from high school and starting college. It was because of his little sister that he chose to live at home. His little sister, and his inability to pay room and board. The siblings were utterly devoted to each other. . .Allie was just as protective of Mike as he was of her.

Slowly, with each story told, Ava began to suspect that Mike was actually Michael Norman. With each story told, her hardened heart began to melt toward the siblings. With each story told, she began to realize that it really didn't matter what Michael did or would have done. She chose to believe that she could win his heart, and she refused to listen to reason. With that discovery came another.

She believed herself in love with Michael. . .but during their conversations, she actually fell in love with Flynn. By the time he introduced her anew as his girlfriend, only a few weeks passed since her embarrassing confrontation with the Norman siblings. Not surprisingly, Allison wasn't inclined to trust her. Ava could see the wariness in her eyes. And even if she couldn't, there was no way she could have missed the younger girl's suspicion when she whispered, for Ava's ears only, "Break his heart, and I'll break your face."

They planned to be married, Ava and Flynn, once Flynn was finished with college. The summer he was killed, they were making wedding plans for the following year, after he graduated. That was actually why Ava wasn't there that particular weekend. She had 'wedding' things to do. And never stopped regretting it. If she was there, Flynn would not have been at his job that week. He would have had that week off.

Or so she was reminded by Devin Hurley when she blurted out that Allison did nothing to save Flynn. The former police chief heard this only hours after his baby was buried, and rounded on her with such fury in his eyes, Ava literally took a step backward. He actually growled, "So help me God, if I ever hear that come out of your mouth again, it will be the last thing you say! You wanna blame someone? You blame Saul Conover, or you can blame yourself. After all, if you were here this week. . .like my son asked you to be. . .Flynn wouldn't have been working. I suggest you remember that!"

Ava took another step back, sick with rage and guilt, because she knew he was right. Maybe that was why she lashed out at that idiot reporter the way she did. She certainly didn't regret decking the bitch. If she regretted anything, it was that she didn't hit her harder. Unfortunately, Wendy grabbed her before she could beat the living hell out of the woman. Or maybe not so unfortunately. Ava would have been little use behind bars, after all.

Besides, Allison was really the only one who would accept help after it was all over. After he found Flynn's journals, Devin slid into a deep depression that no one could pull him from. . .not even his honorary nieces. And Brody wouldn't accept help. He lashed out at anyone and everyone who crossed his path. His father, for only seeing when it was too late what a wonderful child he had; Allison, for doing nothing to save Flynn and Michael; Wendy, for being away again; and Ava, for not coming that week, as Flynn asked her to.

No one was safe. . .not even himself. Wendy, though shaken by Brody's attacks, realized long before Ava did that Brody's attacks were fueled by guilt. Though he lashed out at his father and 'sister,' among others, in truth, he was angriest with himself. He was a cop. . .what kind of a cop was he, that he couldn't protect his own brother and his best friend from a lowlife scumbag like Saul Conover?

And that brought the final member of the sisterhood into the mix. Delia Conover. Or rather, if anything, she was a mother figure to the three younger women. She was twenty years old when she met and married Saul Conover, then a respected and rising young star in the world of academia. After ten years of marriage without children, it was discovered that Saul was infertile. And that was when the problems began.

They both wanted children. . .Saul even more than Delia. It was believed that in the beginning, he simply began spending more and more time at work. Next came drugs, perhaps to enable him to stay awake. Then came harder drugs, and alcohol, and the changes in his personality. And then the dreams started. Shortly thereafter, he struck Delia for the first and last time. Last time, because that day, she moved out. A promise to her college roommate, who never entirely trusted Saul.

Ava realized that she should feel some compassion for Saul. . .but she didn't. Her compassion was limited to Saul Conover's victims. His wife. . .Ava's dead fiancé. The man who ultimately became like another brother to Ava. The people whom Saul Conover hurt and killed. And that brought her right back to the present day. With a sigh, Ava slouched down in her seat, resting her booted feet against the doorframe.

She ignored the slight discomfort caused from her ribs straining against the seatbelt. Ava screwed up today. She knew that. She screwed up and hurt her brother with her remarks about his abilities as a cop. And she also knew she was lucky that Allison wasn't here, since her 'little sister' would have kicked her butt for saying those things. As it was, she was lucky that Brody didn't wring her neck. Ava didn't think she could get away with saying that she was worried about Allison. They all were. But she didn't always think before she spoke. Even now, a grown woman of thirty-one, she still reacted before she spoke, she still reacted before she thought. Somewhere along the way, she stopped taking care of Allison. . .and Allison started taking care of her. She just hoped that her friend would find her way back to them. . .if only to keep Ava from doing something even more stupid in the future.

_Imladris, 3019 of the Third Age_

Boromir had to admit. . .both Lady Alorie and Lady Arwen were quite correct in sending him to bathe. Not only was he rank, but the bath went far in easing his aching muscles. Boromir came to the distressing conclusion that he was no longer twenty years old. Aye, that was stating the obvious. He was not an old man, particularly not in terms of his line. His own father was eighty-eight years old.

No, Boromir was not old. Indeed, he was not even middle-aged by the reckoning of his line. But his muscles protested the hard riding. With a sigh, he raised himself up from the bath, reaching for the towel kindly provided by one of Lord Elrond's servants. Lady Arwen promised to take him to the room where the shards of Narsil lay once his bath was complete. Even as he dried himself, Boromir's mind was racing with what he learned during his ride and just in the last few hours. He was not the only new arrival here, Boromir learned, during the last few days.

Dwarves came from Erebor, other Elves from Mirkwood, and rumors reached his ears of beings called 'Halflings.' And, of course, he knew about the arrival of Mithrandir. As ever, he enjoyed making a dramatic entrance. As for halflings, Boromir never saw one with his own eyes, and he would not believe such stories until he saw one. That meeting was to come far sooner than he anticipated, for as Boromir began to dress in the clean clothes provided for him until his own clothes were clean, he realized was peculiar. His leggings were. . .

That of a child? Boromir frowned, trying to remember what he heard about Elves during his younger brother's conversations with Mithrandir. Were there any Elven children left? He could not remember, not for certain. In truth, Boromir was not nearly as curious as his little brother. In so many ways, they were so different. Perhaps that was why, or at least part of the reason why, Boromir adored Faramir as he did. He was Boromir's little brother, of course, but Boromir liked him as well as loved him.

A giggle came and in spite of himself, Boromir smiled faintly. He allowed the leggings to drop once more and instead, put on a robe. This, he was pleased to see, was adult-sized, and he made a mental note to thank Lady Arwen for her kindness. He was on the verge of reassuring the children that he was not angry, when a voice whispered, "Pippin! Shhh! He'll see us!" Now Boromir's smile widened.

While he was not a Ranger, Boromir was quite capable of stealth when he so chose. On silent feet, he padded over in the direction of the whispers, giggles, and a half second later, a muffled yelp of pain. Well remembering such games with his little brother, Boromir located the source of laughter. Now, was this not a surprise? It came from a large cloth box. . .perhaps used for the assorting of dirty clothes?

Biting down hard on his lower lip to keep from laughing, Boromir pulled back the top sheet to find two children staring up at him in shock. Nay, not children. He stared back, unable to believe what he was seeing. This, then, had to be halflings. They were no bigger than children of nine or ten, but the faces were of men. Young men, aye. . . perhaps nineteen or twenty years of age. These would have to be halflings.

"Oi! Merry, he found us!" the younger of the two. This would have to be Pippin. He was also observant, because a moment later, the halfling exclaimed, "He's smiling, Merry, he's not angry with us!" Boromir couldn't help himself at that point. . .he threw his head back and laughed outright. He laughed even harder when the one called 'Merry' smacked Pippin in the back of his curly head. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see a similar, indignant expression on his younger brother's face in years gone by.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but it was Pippin's idea. I. . .agh!" that one said as Boromir, still laughing, slid his hands under the little one's arms and lifted him bodily up and out. The Man held the halfling in midair, laughing green eyes making contact with bright blue eyes. Merry smiled back then, saying, "It's a pleasure to meet you. . .I'm Meriadoc Brandybuck, and this is my cousin Peregrin Took. But we all call him 'Pippin' most of the time." Boromir chose not to ask what they called him the rest of the time. Based on what he saw of the cousins so far, he was quite certain he did not wish to know.

"Tis a pleasure to meet you, Master Brandybuck. I am Boromir, son of Denethor, of the line of Hurin," the Man answered instead, and settled Merry on the floor, and only just prevented himself from ruffling the little one's hair. He scooped up Pippin next, and the little one gave him a heart-melting smile. Aye, Boromir knew many such as Pippin Took. A mischievous smile confirmed this suspicion, and Boromir shook his head mentally, adding, "And I am pleased to meet you as well, Master Took."

He settled Pippin down beside his cousin, adding, "That was quite a good joke. Might I presume that you are the Halflings of whom I have heard so much?" The cousins looked at each other, and Boromir could almost hear what they were thinking, '_he's heard of us_?' Boromir continued, "I thought as much. I heard of such beings, but never believed the stories. Now, I can see they are true."

"We have a lot of names, Bilbo says. But we're mostly called 'hobbits' and 'halflings.' Gandalf promised to tell us what the Elves call us, but. . .ow! Merry, that hurt!" Pippin blurted out, glaring at his cousin. Boromir once more had to fight back a grin. Cousins they might be, but they behaved more like brothers. With a huff, the younger of the two looked up at Boromir and added, "Have you eaten yet? The Elves have wondrous food here!"

"One thing you must learn about hobbits, Captain-General," a wry, amused voice said, "they eat quite often." Boromir turned to face a young Elf who somewhat resembled his host, Lord Elrond, and that worthy's beautiful daughter. The Elf smiled and said, "I am Elladan Elrondion. . .Elladan, son of Elrond, and I have brought your clothes with me. If you so desire, I can also take these two imps with me, since they are hungry again."

Boromir awkwardly inclined his head to the newcomer, not entirely sure how to respond, and replied, "I thank you for that, Lord Elladan. And, little ones, I thank you for your kind offer to join you, but I am not hungry. I must finish dressing, and Lady Arwen has promised to show the shards of Narsil to me. Until later, then." With that, he made a bow to the two halflings, who were already on their way to stealing his heart.

His bow earned him twin, blinding smiles and as Elladan ushered them out of the bathing chamber (for this was no privy, as he knew them), Pippin called over his shoulder, "When you see Lady Arwen, tell her I hope Lady Alorie is feeling better!" Lady Alorie. Well, that was a surprise. It would seem that he was not the first of the visitors to meet the quiet little stranger. However, Boromir dismissed that from his mind as retrieved the clothes left for him by the young Elf Lord and began to dress. His mind was already jumping ahead.

He knew not when Lord Elrond would speak to him. . .if he would speak to all of the visitors at once, as his father did in his Council meetings, or if each meeting would be conducted separately. While the former made more sense, Boromir was uncomfortable with the idea of telling all gathered about the dream both he and his brother had. Were it left to him, only Lord Elrond would know of the dream. It was the business of no other. What made him even more nervous was the verse 'the halfling shall stand forth.'

It troubled him when he first had the dream, in part because they were a rarity for him. Dreams, portents and premonitions were normally the burden carried by his younger brother, though he knew some would call it a 'gift.' Boromir, who had to comfort his little brother after nightmares when Faramir was a child, disagreed strongly. Those who called these portents 'gifts' never had to calm a terrified child, obviously.

He was even more troubled now, now that he met Merry and Pippin. There was at least one more halfling, called 'Frodo.' He was under the care of Lord Elrond and Mithrandir, whom these hobbits knew as Gandalf. Elven medicine was far stronger than that of Men, which implied the halfling in question was badly injured. The questions which remained were. . .what happened to cause his injury, and was it important?

When Boromir returned to his own chambers, assigned to him by Lord Elrond, he found his clothes already clean. The tall blond Gondorian dressed quickly, looking forward to seeing both the shards of Narsil, and perhaps even the painting of which he heard so much. There was a great feast planned for tonight, greeting all the new arrivals. Lady Arwen told him that she would attend, but Lady Alorie would not. . .she was not yet comfortable with large gatherings.

Boromir was still uncertain about how Lady Alorie was injured. He learned as he carried her to her chambers that her ribs were injured in addition to her arm. There were no indications that she was beaten. She was shy, to be sure, but not frightened. Not even uncomfortable with him, though that might have been due to his resemblance to this "Bro-dee." Boromir hoped he was right. He had little use for those who would harm anyone smaller than themselves. Such people possessed neither honor nor courage.

As Boromir was dressing, another man was quietly reading in the chamber devoted to Isildur's slaying of Sauron. He looked to be in his early forties, to a casual viewer, but nearly all of the Elves in Imladris knew him from the time he was a small boy. At the age of two, his mother brought him here for safety's sake, after his father and her husband were killed by orcs. This man, who seemed no more than forty-one or forty-two, was in truth in his late eighties.

He was a direct descendent of Elros, twin brother of Elrond. Both Peredhil, Elros chose his human destiny, while Elrond chose his Elven heritage. To put it simply, Elros chose mortality. While the Men of his line were long-lived and slow to show their age, they were mortal. . .and they did age. Among his line, the Man was considered on the early side of middle age.

Perhaps it was odd for him to find solace in this room. Indeed, there was little solace in the reminders of his fallen ancestor, Isildur. He destroyed Sauron's body, but not the Ring. Still, it was quiet in here, and right now, that was what Aragorn, son of Arathorn, needed. He spent the last days, ever since his arrival in Imladris, his childhood home, in meetings with his foster father, brothers, and Gandalf the Grey.

Ill tidings marked these days. Gandalf was a prisoner of Saruman the White for a time, the White Wizard now revealed as a traitor. Word reached him from his dearest friend, Legolas, that Gollum escaped the Mirkwood Elves. The One Ring was found and even now, the Ringbearer was recovering. They arrived in time to save Frodo, but it frightened Aragorn nonetheless. Even with Glorfindel's aid, though, it could have easily ended in tragedy.

There was something else. Months earlier, a young woman literally fell to the ground during a bizarre storm. She wore strange clothing. . .loose trousers and an extremely short tunic with no sleeves. Injured in the fall, his foster father and betrothed quickly learned that she spoke no Westron or Sindarin. Indeed, they believed she was not from Middle-earth at all. Which left a question. . .from whence did she come?

During such times as these, there was no such thing as being too cautious when a stranger literally fell to the ground. A stranger who spoke no language understandable to the inhabitants of Rohan, Gondor, Imladris, or even Mordor. Gandalf and Bilbo both assured him that the girl was no threat to them. She was a threat to no one, not even to Sauron. Just a child brought here by a magic beyond them all, even Gandalf.

Gandalf further assured him that she had no part to play in the coming battle. And a battle there would be. Aragorn knew it. It was only a matter of time. The Ring was found, and it was time for a final confrontation with Sauron. He could only hope he could avoid the pitfalls which led to the death of his ancestor. Aragorn smiled without much humor. _'I have given hope to the Dunedain_,' his mother said years earlier, '_I have kept none for himself_.' Odd, was it not. . . that a Man whose Elvish name meant 'hope' could have so little when it came to his own strength, his own will?

While he had little time to spend with Arwen since his arrival, Aragorn knew that his beloved began teaching this newcomer Sindarin. That was excellent, for how else could they communicate with her and determine her intentions in this world, if she did, indeed, have intentions. Aragorn learned of these lessons from the twins, who took the opportunity to tell him that the child thought him a woman at first. They learned this not from their younger sister Arwen, but from eavesdropping outside the child's room. It seemed in her world, 'Hope' was the name of a woman in many languages.

Not surprisingly, this little piece of information amused the twins. They could not wait to share it, in fact, with their little 'sister.' In truth, Aragorn thought little about his name while he was growing up. That was simply his name. . .why should he think further on it? On the other hand, he did find it amusing. If, in her world, only women were named 'Hope' in a variety of languages, why would she not assume that he was a woman? Twas what she knew, and twas her only basis for comparison, as Gandalf would say. Things found strange by the Elvenkind were common place among Men. Why should this girl be any different?

In addition to Sindarin, Aragorn learned, the young stranger was also learning Westron from Bilbo. Not surprisingly, the old hobbit pitied a frightened child far from home and in a place she understood not. She. . . Footfall alerted Aragorn that he was no longer alone in the room and interrupted his thoughts. A tall, blond-haired man entered, and despite his coloring, Aragorn realized immediately that he was from Gondor, rather than Rohan.

For one thing, he knew a man of Gondor arrived in Imladris. This, he knew from the twins. For another, the newcomer had the fair coloring of his late mother, Finduilas of Dol Amroth. Aragorn knew Boromir years earlier, when the Gondorian was a child and Aragorn served his grandfather Ecthelion II as 'Thorongil.' In his eighty-seven years of life, Aragorn carried many names, including 'Estel,' which his Elvish friends and family still called him.

Boromir moved quietly, reverently to the painting depicting Isildur's confrontation with Sauron. When he came to terms with the knowledge that he was Isildur's heir, Aragorn would sometimes stare at that painting, searching for similarities between his own face and the face of his distant ancestor. Twas a double-edged sword, heritage. . .Aragorn, especially when he was younger, ached for a connection to his family, to those who came before him.

Along the River Anduin were two great statues. . .two great monuments of Isildur and Anarion. They were the Argonath, the Pillars of the Kings. Each held out one hand, as if protecting the now-lost Kingdom. He never saw the Argonath, though he was the heir of Isildur. Not even while he served Ecthelion did he have the opportunity to see the Argonath. Only Minas Tirith, the White City, and that was an impressive sight on its own. At the same time, he knew the story of Isildur, and could not help but fear that he would not be strong enough to resist the One Ring and its temptation.

Aragorn watched the young Captain-General in silence as he breathed, "The shards of Narsil." Boromir picked up the shattered sword and winced as he sliced open his finger, murmuring, "Tis still sharp." Aragorn said not a word, for in truth, he knew not what to say. About Isildur, about Narsil, or about Gondor. While in Minas Tirith, Aragorn was caught between Ecthelion and his son Denethor, a servant beloved as a son.

Though he had little desire to become king, though it would mean the hand of Arwen in marriage, Aragorn always listened to word of Gondor. He knew when Ecthelion died, and when Finduilas gave birth to her second son, little Faramir. Who was, Aragorn realized with a start, no longer so little. The boy was thirty-five now, if Aragorn's memory served. Hardly a child. . . except to a Man of Aragorn's age.

The eye contact maintained for a few more moments, then Boromir shrugged as if it was no importance to him, adding, "But still no more than an heirloom." However, Aragorn realized that it meant far more to the soldier than Boromir wished to admit. The captain-general drifted from the room. Aragorn lay his book to one side and rose to his feet. He approached the painting, and the shards.

With a sigh, Aragorn raised his eyes to the painting, seeking answers to questions not even he could ask. A soft voice from the shadows to his left drew his attention away from the painting, and his beloved stepped into the light. She was so very beautiful. The most beautiful woman he ever saw, aside from his mother. And he had so little time with her during this visit to his childhood home. Never enough time.

She would seek to comfort him, as she always did. It was an old argument between them, if indeed it could be called an argument. She had such faith in him, his Arwen. His beautiful, fiercely devoted Arwen. He did not deserve her. This, he knew. But she loved him, and would accept no other. She was prepared to sacrifice her immortality for him, a sacrifice that never failed to astonish him. What had he done, to be so fortunate? As Arwen once more tried to share her faith with him, Aragorn wondered if he was meant to prove himself worthy of her.

There was a great feast tonight, and Allison chose not to attend, though she was invited. Many people would be there, and with her arm still healing, she found it difficult to eat properly. And in a crowd, she knew she would be even more uncomfortable. On the other side, since all the others would be at the feast, she would be alone. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Ever since she arrived here, months earlier, she had little opportunity to be alone.

There was always someone with her. . .Arwen, Lord Elrond, one of the twins, sometimes even Glorfindel or Erestor. Glorfindel would tell her stories about days gone by, and Erestor would help her with her Sindarin. The twins still didn't have much use for her, but that was alright. Allison was twenty-nine, not twelve. . .not everyone would like her. And they certainly weren't unkind about it. They just had better things to do with their time than spend it with a girl who barely spoke their language.

By this time, Allison learned that Elves lived for thousands of years. They didn't reach their majority until they were at least one hundred years of age. The Elven version of twenty-one, she figured. Arwen was just shy of three thousand years old, a staggering number to the young human. In the early twenty-first century, people were living longer, even into their hundreds, but that still was a short life compared to an elf.

Lord Elrond was around seven thousand years old. . .which was all the more bizarre, considering he looked no more than forty or forty-five. He certainly didn't look old enough to have a grown daughter. And then there was Mithrandir, who was no Elf. She still didn't know what he was. . .just that he was very old and very powerful. He belonged to an order of magicians or wizards. She wondered if it was like Anne Rice's Talamasca, but decided not to ask. It would take entirely too much explanation.

And there were too many things in that category already. One, she had no choice but to bring up with Arwen. She wasn't even sure if this was something Elven women had to deal with, but she had to risk the embarrassment. She learned that there were physical similarities between Elves and humans. . .that it was necessary, in order for Peredhil to exist. There were few of those, and Arwen was among those few.

Summoning her courage, Allison asked Arwen about her monthly. In the months since her arrival, Allison (for she still thought of herself as 'Allison,' rather than as 'Alorie'), she had not yet had a monthly, and it worried her. She never thought such a thing would worry her. But it did. Arwen, thankfully, took her concerns seriously and explained that while she had no answers, not for certain, it was Arwen's opinion that Allison's body was still recovering from the fall. . .among other things.

_In other words_, Allison surmised to herself, _between the magic in this world and the trauma of falling through time and space, my body is still getting used to this new place_. It made sense, and she thanked Arwen. Of course, that opened another can of worms, though she was careful not to share that saying with Arwen. She really didn't want to try to explain that in Sindarin. . .much less Westron.

While she realized that this could all be a coma-induced dream, Allison started thinking about how and why she ended up here. Her instincts told her that she was not on a different planet, but her own. While her interest lay in languages, Allison kept up with history and archaeology, and she knew if her instincts were correct, she either traveled back in time. . . or forward in time. However, she looked at it, this was a problem.

If she traveled back in time, when exactly was she? And where? It made sense that she traveled back in time, but if that was the case, she was in very dangerous position. For one thing, this totally blew all theories about the beginning of civilization right to hell. Then again, this could be the First Times she heard about while reading about ancient Egypt. For another thing, she was all too aware that any changes she made in this time could impact her own. She and Michael read enough Ray Bradbury and Dean Koontz to know that.

The trouble was, how did she know if she was changing something? She wasn't even supposed to be here! _Unless_, a soft voice in the back of her head, _you were meant to come here. Not to change things, but for some reason you know not_. The voice was not Arwen's, but it was female. And it most definitely was not Allison's. She had a hard enough time thinking of herself as Alorie, much less thinking in Sindarin or Westron. No. . .the voice wasn't hers, and it wasn't Arwen's. It was someone else. But whose?

Of course, if she was thrown forward in time, that was something else. Allison was sure there were problems associated with that as well, but by this time, her head was pounding. That wasn't a surprise. Science was never her strong suit in school, and as Brody said when they talked about the possibility of time travel, 'Temporal mechanics give me a headache.' Brody. She smiled in spite of herself.

Boromir, whom she met today, was so very much like Brody, the Brody she remembered from before Flynn and Michael's death, it made her heart ache. True, his hair was longer. . .a lot longer. And Brody was clean shaven. But their eyes were the same, their faces were the same, and their smiles were the same. Boromir made her miss her other older 'brother' keenly. Especially when he carried her to her room.

It was something that Brody would have done. . .something she remembered him doing once. She was about thirteen or fourteen at the time, and Flynn fell asleep on the floor while he and Brody were at the Norman house. Allison left her seat to at least make him comfortable, but Brody shook his head. He scooped his brother into his arms and carefully carried him into the room once used by Michael and Allison's mother.

Michael had snagged a belt loop and gave a yank, pulling her into his lap. Since Brody wasn't in the room, Allison didn't put up a fuss. She adored her brother, but she was uncomfortable with public displays of affection. Since Brody was otherwise occupied, Allison very happily made herself comfortable in Michael's arms, leaning her head against his shoulder. She fell asleep that way, as she often did.

Allison shook herself, feeling tears clogging her throat. Since her arrival in Rivendell or Imladris, the memories became easier to bear. The pain remained, and always would, but it was somehow more manageable. She asked about Lord Elrond about that once, and he smiled, telling her that his lands were a place of healing. And perhaps that was why she was there. Allison considered this, and for once, didn't ask about the pain she saw in his eyes.

There were a lot of questions she wasn't asking. Why she sometimes saw pain in Elrond's eyes at strange times. What happened to Arwen's mother. And a much more recent question, after overhearing a conversation between Elrond and Mithrandir, or Gandalf, as he was also called. 'She must not come into contact with Aragorn. It is vital that they remain separated, for as long as possible.'

She knew that Aragorn was the true name of Estel, Elrond's foster son and Arwen's betrothed. What she didn't know was why it was important that she had nothing to do with Aragorn. Allison sighed, rubbing at her forehead. The burn mark from her original fall, months earlier, was long healed. But even without a scar, the spot still pained her at times. Now was such a time, and she was tired. She sat down on her bed, hoping she could at least focus on the Sindarin book of poetry that Arwen left for her.

However, that was not to be. Instead, Allison lay back and closed her eyes. She didn't intend to fall asleep. She slept earlier in the day, and when she slept during the day on weekends, it was impossible for her to fall asleep that night. Here, however, things were different. She didn't wake when a servant quietly carried a tray of food in for her. She didn't wake when Bilbo came to check on her after the feast. Nor did she wake while Pippin and Mery demolished the tray of food left for her. Her body was still healing. . .and there were several months of neglect which required healing.


	6. The Will of the Council

I'm baaaaaaaaaack! I actually planned to post this yesterday, but a family emergency popped up. My uncle had a heart attack, a second heart attack, and I was too worried about him to write. I do apologize for the delay. I also promised an explanation for my previous delay. I recently quit my job, and have spent the last month and a half recovering from mental exhaustion (to say nothing of having to deal with a job I hate, and fighting my attraction to my married supervisor. No, I didn't make a move on him. That's why I got out of there, before my hormones overrode my good sense). I've been recovering, looking for another job, and exploring other stories.

Quick author's note: Regarding Gimli's dialogue, it'll appear that some words are misspelled. This is deliberate. I was trying to 'write' his accent.

Reviews!

Rosie: Well, I'm a little later than I planned. Can you forgive me? So glad you're enjoying this, and I PROMISE, I'll get back to work on _Calling the Wind_ as soon as I can. Juliet and Luke have provided me with starting points; it's just a matter of writing them down. Nope, the only spoiler would be if you asked who Undercover Elf is. Here's the current scorecard:

Aragorn: Michael Norman

Arwen: Wendy Stryder

Eowyn: Ava Edmunds

Eomer: Robin Edmunds

Boromir: Brody Hurley

Faramir: Flynn Hurley

Denethor: Devin Hurley

Saruman: Saul Conover

The reincarnated hobbits will be making an appearance in the second story of this trilogy, called '_Wish of the Heart.' _The final story is more of a companion piece than an actual story, and it's called '_Yours to Command.'_

Lil-sis: It's here! It's here! It's here! (grins)

Sydney: Thank you! I have the next chapter planned out. . .one of the reasons I took a little extra time was to give myself the opportunity to watch _Fellowship of the Ring_ last weekend on TNT.

Sailor Elf: Yeah, I know. I like doing things differently, you should know that by now.

Terries: Of course I missed you, don't ask such silly questions! Of course. What was I thinking, even considering telling Pippin 'no.' You're right. Ava wasn't thinking. . .just reacting. I think Brody may need some comforting. Well. . .she's sort of like his baby sister, so it seemed appropriate that Brody call Allison 'baby girl.' Will Ava be okay? How do you mean, okay? The meeting of Boromir and the cousins. . .well, you know what I say every time you ask me how I do 'it.' It's just there, and the same was true of that little scene. And how could I not throw in some Aragorn/Arwen sweetness? Or Aragorn period? It'll be a while before Aragorn and Alorie meet. Let's just say, she's not ready to meet him. Poor silly girl. I had a wonderful Thanksgiving, aside from the difficulties I mentioned to you earlier.

On with the story (Luke, be patient, I'm getting to you!)

Chapter Five

Over the next several days, both Arwen and Alorie saw less of the respective men in their lives. It grew easier for the newcomer to think of herself as 'Alorie,' rather than 'Allison.' She could at least answer to 'Alorie' now, which was an improvement. She spent twenty-nine years as 'Allison,' that couldn't change overnight. And like her 'big sister,' Alorie missed the males. While she was becoming friends with Boromir and Pippin, especially when she could get Pippin to slow down, Elrond was like her father.

She barely remembered her own father, and wasn't sure if she _wanted_ to remember him. Elrond, on the other hand, was everything she hoped a father would be. . .loving and protective, if a bit stern. She knew from the others that he lived for several thousand years, and his wife no longer lived here. . .which accounted for some of the sadness in his eyes. Fifteen years earlier, she would have thought living such a long life would be cool.

But that was before she lost her brother and her dearest friend. Life was terribly lonely if you didn't have someone. And with the terrible things Elrond saw during his life time, it was no wonder he was somewhat stern. Even so, knowing that didn't ease her frustration when she was practically ordered to stay inside on a particular day. Alorie didn't believe in being difficult, but there wasn't a need to order her about, was there?

She followed the directions, because there was no sense in depriving herself of a home so soon. She knew the day was coming when she would leave Rivendell. Why push it ahead of schedule? Allison Norman was a good girl. Everyone said so. She didn't start her rebellion until after her brother and Flynn died, and it was so subtle, most people missed it. She could have stayed in college. She could have gone ahead. She should have done that. But she didn't.

No, she was a good girl, so she didn't consider ignoring Lord Elrond's orders. Instead, when a bell was rung, Alorie retreated to her favorite room in the Last Homely House. If she couldn't be outside, then she could at least look outside. She retrieved a book of Sindarin poetry on her way here, the book that she kept trying to read. With everyone otherwise occupied, she hoped she could make a little more progress.

The room overlooked what she called a patio, though it was entirely too grand to be considered a patio. However, so much of Rivendell was so beautiful, she had a hard time describing it, even to herself, in her own journal. The window ledge was large enough to be considered a window seat, and she loved to sit there and read in the afternoons. Alorie tucked her legs under her body, and began to focus on the language she was still learning.

An hour passed, or maybe two. During her time here, she realized that her sense of time changed. Sometimes, days would pass without her thinking of Flynn, Michael, Brody, Wendy or Ava. And other days, she would awaken, missing them all so keenly, it took her breath away. She would wonder if they even noticed she was gone, in her own time. Had she drifted too far away from Brody, especially, to ever find her way back?

She wondered about Brody, especially, after spending so much time with Boromir. He was so like Brody, and so different. They both had blond hair and green eyes, but Brody's blond hair was cut short and he was clean shaven. Boromir's hair was a bit shorter than her own and he sported a neat mustache and beard. Or was that a goatee? She never found goatees particularly attractive. . . thought they made the wearers look demonic. But it looked good on Boromir. Then again, with that smile, even horns would look good.

Voices drew her attention away from her reading. . .one voice in particular. It belonged to Lord Elrond. After her months here in Rivendell, she knew his voice as well as she knew Arwen's. With a frown, Alorie looked to the door. . .she knew better than to expect to hear footsteps. Elves were light on their feet, she discovered, and they often came to her side with but a whisper of movement. She never knew they were there until they spoke to her, at which point, she would give a startled little shriek. At least, at first.

As weeks passed, and she became more accustomed to the elves, it startled her a little less. Of course, the elves also made an effort to make their presence known as well when they approached her. Elves had very sensitive hearing, and her shrieks, abbreviated as they were, made the highly sensitive ears of the Elves hurt. It was in their best interest, they evidently decided, to announce their presence, rather than startle her. And that was why she made no movement, no sound, now, as she tried to figure out where the voices were coming from.

Below her. They were coming from below her. The voices were too clear to be coming from the floor under hers. . .which meant. . . Alorie looked out the window, and now discovered the reason she was bid to remain indoors. Too bad no one mentioned staying out of this room. Lord Elrond was conducting what appeared to be a meeting. She saw Gandalf, heard Elrond, and noticed several elves. There were others. A tiny figure, who reminded her of Pippin and Bilbo, seated beside Gandalf.

On the other side of the circle sat Boromir. The corners of Alorie's mouth lifted as she saw her friend. He was seated with several other Men. And. . .were those dwarves? She met hobbits, wizards, elves and Men. . .but this was the first time since her arrival that she saw a dwarf. Assuming they were, indeed, dwarves. . .perhaps they were something different. One thing she learned while she was here. . .expect the unexpected.

The Ring. What was this about a Ring? Why was it so important? Why was a piece of jewelry so feared by these people? It made no sense, and Alorie listened more intently, hoping to understand. The small figure seated beside Gandalf stepped forward and placed the Ring on a round altar in the middle of the chamber. She couldn't see it from her position, but that mattered little. Why was this Ring so feared?

Then she heard something very interesting. This Ring, called the Ring of Power, belonged to a ruthless dictator. . .or as they called them here, a 'Dark Lord.' Sounded like a cross between Adolf Hitler and Josef Stalin. . .only worse. Maybe a little bit of Darth Vader and Oliver Cromwell? Three thousand years earlier, this Dark Lord, this Sauron, was destroyed in a great battle. But his Ring remained, and it was this Ring that was now at this council.

A quiet voice interrupted something Boromir was saying. . .the Gondorian was speaking too rapidly for Alorie to understand him. However, she knew her friend well enough to realize that Boromir was not pleased about whatever the owner of the quiet voice said. A new voice interrupted, speaking loud enough and clearly enough for the newcomer to understand, "This is no mere Ranger! He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and rightful king of Gondor! You owe him your allegiance." Alorie raised her eyebrows. So that was Arwen's Aragorn!

Boromir's words were clear enough for all to hear and understand, "Gondor has no King. Gondor needs no king." Alorie frowned at the bitterness in his voice. They never really talked about Gondor. . .Boromir was usually too busy helping her with her syntax and vocabulary. Occasionally, he would talk about his little brother, but that was about it. Right now, his tone reflected his disgust. . .or was it something else? She wished she could see his face. . .but would that have really helped?

She was so focused on her concern about Boromir, she lost track of the conversation once more. However, her attention was snapped back to the meeting below her by a terrific explosion. Alorie clapped a hand over her mouth, to prevent herself from crying out, and stared down at the ground. A dwarf was lying there, obviously stunned, and his kinfolk quickly pulled him upright. What the hell just happened?

Her answer came a moment later, when Lord Elrond told the dwarf. . .Gimli, son of Gloin? Told him that the only way the Ring could be destroyed was by casting it into Mount Doom, back into the fires which created it. No weapon made by men, elves, or dwarves could destroy it. Her lips twitched as Evy Carnahan's words in _The Mummy_ came back to her, when reminded that no mortal weapon could destroy the high priest Imhotep, "Then we'll just have to find some_immortal_ ones!" Her smile disappeared quickly, for the meeting was disintegrating into a free-for-all.

She cringed, witnessing the heated argument between Boromir and Gandalf. . . other arguments broke out at the same time. But it was the confrontation between Boromir and Gandalf that truly worried her. Alorie sensed Boromir's distrust of the wizard, and he acknowledged as much when she asked him about it, but wouldn't explain the why of it. At last, a voice cried out, "I will take it! I will take the Ring to Mordor!"

Boromir's back was to Alorie, so she couldn't see his face. . .but she could see Gandalf's face when the voice broke through the arguments. An expression of grief was clearly visible as he closed his eyes. It was the hobbit who was seated next to him. She noticed earlier that Gandalf seemed rather fond of him. The hobbit continued, his voice wobbling with fear and determination, "Though I do not know the way."

Gandalf hastened to the small hobbit's side, replying something to the effect of, "I can help with that, Frodo Baggins." Frodo? She knew that name. And her translation probably wasn't exactly right, but her Westron was still not as good as her Sindarin. And it mattered not at all, for Alorie heard the soft-spoken Aragorn pledge himself to Frodo, vowing to protect him with his life or death. She could not see his face, only his dark hair. An elf followed suit, then the dwarf who attempted to destroy the Ring.

Then finally Boromir spoke, approaching the small group, "You carry the fate of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the Council. . .Gondor will see it done." Something about his words pierced Alorie's heart, and her hands tightened around the book of Sindarin poetry. Even without the amazing resemblance between Brody and Boromir. . .the phraseology was different, but the sentiment was the same. Brody sometimes doubted the wisdom of things he did, but carried out the instructions he was given nonetheless.

So that was Boromir, Aragorn, this Frodo, the elf, the dwarf and Gandalf. Two men, an elf, a dwarf, a hobbit, and a wizard. Did this small group have a chance succeeding where huge armies failed? Come to think of it, they probably had a better chance than a huge army. But right now, she needed to talk to someone. Alorie was on the point of vacating her window seat, when a voice blurted out, "OI! Mr Frodo's not goin' anywhere without me!"

"No, indeed, it is quite impossible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council meeting and you are not," Lord Elrond said, amusement and sternness warring. At that point, two more intruders were revealed. . .the mischievous Pippin and another hobbit. Four hobbits, two men, a dwarf, an elf, and a wizard. Nine. There were nine companions, as the Elven Lord said then. He declared them to be 'The Fellowship of the Ring.'

At which point, Pippin exclaimed, "Right! Where are we going?" For the second time in the last few moments, Alorie clapped her hand over her mouth. . .this time, to keep from laughing. _Where are we going, indeed_? Still, her smile faded quickly. She knew little of the journey they were about to undertake, and understood even less, but just the sound of 'Mordor' made her shudder. She had a lot of questions. What exactly was so important about this Ring, and what connection did it have to this Sauron? Yes, he was the original owner of this Ring, but he was dead. Wasn't he?

Alorie eased from the room, deeply concerned by what she just heard. She really didn't pay any attention to her surroundings. She had to find Arwen. If anyone could help her make sense of what she just heard, it would be Arwen. She hadn't gone two steps when she heard, "Did you hear aught of interest, my Lady?" Alorie froze and turned to face Erestor. They stared at each other for several moments, then Erestor continued, "That room overlooks the pavilion used for the secret Council regarding the One Ring."

Alorie's shoulders went up and back as she replied, "I was told to stay inside. Nothing was said about this ward. I was reading, my Lord Erestor, and heard voices below me. I guess I froze when I heard the name 'Aragorn.' I knew Gandalf wanted us to remain separate. . .I suppose I was hoping to find out why that was. Why, I mean, we were to be kept apart." This wasn't a lie. That played into it. But then, so did her own curiosity.

At the mention of Aragorn, Erestor looked guilty. Hmm, that was interesting. He asked quietly, "What did you hear during the Council?" Alorie was silent as she walked alongside the Elf, trying to decide what she should tell him. She was still trying to piece together all the information, trying to understand just why Boromir sounded so upset. Erestor waited patiently, then repeated, "Lady Alorie? What did you hear?"

She sighed and answered, "I understood little of what was said. My Westron is terrible, my Lord Erestor, you know that." The dark-haired Elf dipped his head, as if this was something he failed to remember. Alorie added, "All I understood without difficulty was when Boromir said 'no king,' when the little one said he would take the Ring to Gondor. Those are the parts that really stuck out for me, at least. And of course, when that one told someone named Greenleaf to sit down, in Sindarin. That is the proper translation for his name, yes?"

"It is. . .'Legolas' means 'Greenleaf' in the Common Tongue. And that was Aragorn who spoke. The little one who is taking the Ring is Frodo, though I think it foolish. He is a Hobbit, a halfling. Even with the protection of Estel and Legolas, he still has little chance against the forces of Mordor," Erestor muttered. Alorie noticed that he didn't even include Boromir or the dwarf in his reckoning.

She didn't ask about that, however. Alorie had a sneaking suspicion that she didn't want to know, especially given the confrontation she witnessed between the dwarves and the elves earlier. Instead, seeing a chance to get some answers, she asked, "Erestor, why exactly does Gandalf want to keep me away from Aragorn? Based on Boromir's reaction, it sounded like Aragorn has a claim to the throne of Gondor. Is that why? Because he is rightfully a king, and I am of no aristocracy, naught but a peasant? Or is it because he is betrothed to Arwen? Why?"

In truth, that was her insecurity talking. . .her insecurity and her utter lack of knowledge about the mores of this time, with regard to the relationship between royalty and non-royalty. If this was indeed the distant past, it was likely that peasants, or anyone not of the aristocracy, were kept away from members of the royal family. Erestor looked both shocked and uncomfortable as he replied, "Never! Never think such a thing! You are no peasant! In truth, my Lady Alorie, I know little of Mithrandir's reasons. But I do know he has them."

Great. Yeah, she figured that Gandalf had his reasons, but it would be nice if someone clued her in about said reasons. Erestor said thoughtfully, "You said you were ordered to stay inside. And you did. Were you not curious about the reason for it?" Alorie looked at him, raising her eyebrows, and Erestor continued, "You must understand. I was here when Estel was a child, and his curiosity was. . .overwhelming."

"Of course I was curious. I was also. . ." Alorie began. She was on the verge of saying 'pissed off,' then remembered that a) she was speaking Sindarin, not English and b) had no idea if it would even translate properly. Instead, she substituted, "I was also a little angry. I have little liking for being ordered, as if I was a slow child. However, I stayed inside. I shall lose my home soon enough. . .why push it ahead of schedule?"

Erestor opened his mouth, but a familiar voice called, "Alorie! I am so glad I found you!" It was Arwen. She smiled at Erestor, adding, "Thank you for taking care of her, Erestor. Alorie, I think Lord Boromir would enjoy a visit." Maybe not, but Boromir probably felt as though his world was turned upside down. And she was entirely too familiar with _that_ feeling.

"Thank you, my Lord Erestor. I am ready, Arwen," Alorie replied. She bowed a little to Erestor, still unsure if this was proper etiquette. No one told her differently when she did it, so she assumed it was acceptable. Arwen smiled at Erestor one last time, and put her arm around Alorie's shoulders. As they walked away, Alorie whispered, "Are you all right? I was worried about you when I could not find you earlier."

"You know about the Fellowship," Arwen stated, rather than asked. Alorie nodded, choosing not to ask how her friend knew about it. Arwen continued, "They will leave Rivendell in two month's time. It is necessary to make certain they have sufficient supplies for their journey to Mordor. Alorie, my father. . .he also told me. In six weeks, you will be leaving Imladris as well. You will be returning with the dwarves."

Alorie felt all the color drain from her face. So this was it. Her time with the Elves was ending. She knew this was coming, but it didn't make it any easier. Six weeks with Arwen. Six weeks with the only father she ever really knew. She looked up at Arwen, who squeezed her shoulder. She said softly, "Go to Boromir. I believe you need him as much as he needs you."

* * *

The will of the Council was to take a small hobbit into Mordor, where he could destroy the Ring. Boromir thought it foolish, but he was the only one. The Captain-General sank into a chair once he returned to his quarters, burying his face in his hands. As if that was not bad enough, Isildur's heir was found at the same time as Isildur's Bane. And even more damning, it was the Ranger he met the previous night. 

Isildur's heir. What would his father make of this? Boromir smiled humorlessly. His father. Denethor II, son of Ecthelion, Ruling Steward of Gondor. For nearly a thousand years, the Stewards, the line of Hurin, ruled over Gondor in the absence of the king. What would happen, if Aragorn, son of Arathorn, sought to take his crown now? Would such a thing come to pass? Boromir groaned, trying to refocus his attention.

There was naught he could do about Aragorn's claim to the throne, if he did, indeed, intend to claim it. For now, there was the matter of the Ring of Power. Eru's blood. . .what were they _thinking_? A soft knock drew his attention to the door, and Boromir thought briefly to tell whoever was at the door to leave him be. But he was curious about who would be visiting him right now. Surely not that damnable Ranger?

He rose to his feet. It was not. It was an even more familiar person, tiny and anxious-looking. Alorie looked up at him, asking softly in stilted Westron, "Are you. . .acceptable?" Boromir smiled and took her hand, drawing her into the room. She stared up at him, her eyes reflecting a very genuine worry. No one other than Faramir ever looked at him like that, since his mother's death.

"I am well enough, my Lady. But I thank you for your concern," he replied, making sure he spoke slowly. Her question, if he was 'acceptable' reminded him that she was still struggling with Westron. Though she made excellent progress, it was due to her intelligence, rather than his skills as a teacher. Alorie continued to gaze at him worriedly, and Boromir knew then. Why she was here, and he asked, "You know of the Council?"

Unexpectedly, she flushed and replied, "My favorite place to read is above the place of meeting. I was reading, when I heard voices." Boromir could just imagine. He was on the point of apologizing for distressing her, when she asked softly, "Are you well, Boromir? I was so worried for you." Boromir felt some of the tension slipping from him at this honest concern. She was here because she was worried about him. Only that.

He drew in a deep breath, then smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, and murmured, "If not for the perils of the journey, I should like to take you with us. I believe you would be a most winsome travel companion. But this quest is no place for a hobbits who have lived in Middle-earth for all of their years. . .much less a young girl who has only just arrived in our world. I would protect you, my Lady."

Unexpectedly, she smiled, though there was no joy in her smile. Only sadness. She replied, "I wish I could come with you. At least then, I would be traveling with someone I know. Before you leave on your quest, I will leave on my own journey. The time of the Elves is over, and they cannot take me with them. I am to go with the dwarves." As usual, once she relaxed, her command of the language improved.

Her smile grew sadder as she added, "I will miss you, Boromir of Gondor. I will miss you very much." Her presence was a balm to his unsettled mind and his wounded pride. Boromir drew her into a fierce embrace, though he remembered what happened the first time he did such a thing and was now careful of her still-healing injuries.

Not careful enough, however, for she choked back a sob. Concerned, Boromir drew back to look at her, but her good arm closed around his waist. She buried her face in his chest, quietly crying. Boromir, never able to resist a hurting little one, cupped the back of her head, and just held her. He lay his cheek against her dark hair. The words poured from her, intermingled with hiccupping sobs. She was to go with the dwarves. . .beings she never even met!

Through the sobs, Boromir began to put the pieces together. For months, Rivendell or Imladris had been her home. She found a family in Lord Elrond and Lady Arwen. She was finally accepting the bizarre change in her home. And now, she would have to leave that home. She was not bitter, no. . . she understood why she had to go. But. . .she would miss them all _so_ much, and she wasn't sure why Gandalf wanted to keep her separate from Aragorn?

Boromir's jaw tightened at the mention of Isildur's heir, then his throat tightened at Alorie's next words. She knew now that Aragorn was the heir of Isildur, and therefore royalty. Erestor said that it wasn't because she was a peasant, not of royal blood, that they were kept separate, but. . . Boromir could not allow that comment to pass without rebuttal. He whispered, "Never think such a thing, Lady Alorie! You are no peasant!"

It was on the tip of his tongue to say that she was far more regal than a Ranger of the North, even if thatRanger was Isildur's Heir. However, he chose to tell her instead, "You must never think of yourself in such a way, my Lady. I admit I understand Mithrandir little, but this I do know. . .he does not regard you as lesser, because you are not of royal blood. Nay, he has other reasons for his desire to keep you separated."

There was a little cough, then Alorie replied, "I am sorry. . .I should not say such things. It. . .I am so tired, Boromir. I do not wish to go with the dwarves, though it is no reflection on them. But I have a home here and a family! Do you know what that is like? I know you lost your mother when you were small, but you still have your father and your brother. The only family I have in my own time are my three friends, Delia, Ava, and Wendy."

Boromir ignored the stab of pain which accompanied her mention of his father and brother. He wished for this assignment, in part because he wished to protect his little brother. And also because with Boromir away, perhaps his father would finally open his eyes and realize what a jewel Faramir truly was. A vain hope, no doubt, but giving up was as alien to Boromir as the language this girl spoke sometimes when she thought she was alone.

Alorie sighed unexpectedly and shook her head, drawing back to look at him. She smiled sadly and said, "I am sorry. I am whining. I came here to comfort you, because I know you have had several nasty shocks. And instead, I end up weeping in your arms." Boromir could only smile at her and drop a gentle kiss on her dark hair, then repeated the gesture against the pale skin of her forehead.

"You have comforted me, my Lady. I admit, it was an unpleasant shock," and he did not specify which one, as he received several, "but I am not the only one who has had unpleasant shocks." Boromir almost laughed aloud at her confused look.

However, he maintained his composure. The child wasn't overly sensitive, but at the moment, she felt rather fragile. He chided gently, "I speak of you, silly child! You have shown amazing strength. . . arriving in a time and place not of your own. Learning not just one, but two languages utterly alien to your own. And though you have lost your entire blood family, you still have the strength to reach out. That takes great courage, little one."

She opened her mouth, and Boromir knew she meant to protest, but he silenced her by pressing a single finger to her lips. He murmured, "I know of what I speak. To continue to love, even after losing almost everything. . .tis a great accomplishment. I am a soldier, my Lady. I face battle and death, and I do fear. I fear never seeing my city again, or my father, or my brother. I fear failing my people. But being afraid does not make me a coward. Believe me when I say, my Lady Alorie, you are no coward."

This time, there was less sadness in her smile. She said softly, "Then I shall not dispute you. Boromir? May I. . .may I sit with you a while?" He understood what she meant. It was not a request for her to lie with him. . .just to remain here, in his rooms. Boromir did better than that. He sat down on his bed, then pulled Alorie into his lap. Her arms wrapped around him, and she buried her face against his shoulder. Neither spoke a word. . .they just held onto each other. Because perhaps, Boromir needed to be held just as badly as Alorie did.

* * *

The next several weeks were quite busy. There were supplies to pack, and routes to plan. The night of the Council, there was a feast. As usual, Alorie thanked Arwen and her father for the invitation, but admitted she still wasn't comfortable with eating in a crowd. Arwen didn't push, and instead, encouraged her friend to spend time with Boromir. The Man was ill at ease among the Elves, and seemed to take comfort in Alorie's company. 

He was drawn to Imladris by a riddle and his father's orders, but like many of his kind, had little knowledge or understanding of Elves. Perhaps he felt he found a similar soul in Alorie. Arwen just knew that as the weeks passed, Alorie spent the majority of her time with either Boromir or Arwen. She was saying her good-byes, before the day was come that she would have to leave. Arwen saw this, and it broke her heart.

There was another for whom Arwen was deeply concerned. Frodo Baggins, Bilbo's young cousin. He was fifty years old, which to an elf was hardly more than a child. Arwen knew that the wound he sustained on Weathertop, from a Morgul blade, would pain him for the rest of his life. And now, now that he would journey into Mordor to destroy the Ring, Arwen feared that life would be short indeed.

But it was as she told Aragorn. The shadow did not yet hold sway. Not over him, not over her. . . not even over Frodo. And she swore to herself that since she would not sail to Valinor, that Frodo would take her place. Arwen did not fool herself into thinking that her father would give up on trying to convince her to forsake Aragorn and sail with him to the Undying Lands. Twas not that her father thought less of Aragorn. Indeed, she knew he loved him, as his own son. But he already knew he would lose Aragorn, and did not also wish to lose Arwen.

Knowing this, however, was not always enough. There were times when Arwen resented her father's determination to take her with him to Valinor. And she hated herself for that resentment, particularly when she saw her little sister and father together. Alorie, long denied the love and guidance of a father, soaked up the affection shown to her by those Elves who accepted her presence.

And what little remaining resentment she felt died when she thought about never seeing her father, her mother, or her grandparents ever again. At the same time, she took comfort in what Alorie told her of her own time. How there were people closely resembling Arwen, and Boromir, and others. In Alorie's time, there was an idea called 'reincarnation.' Put simply, it was the idea that a person was reborn throughout the ages.

Arwen found a great deal of comfort in that. Alorie spent a great deal of time thinking, when she had time to be alone, and she guessed that her own time was about twenty to thirty thousand years into the future. A long time indeed, and if her suspicion was correct, that those who appeared similar in this time were previous incarnations of Alorie's friends in her own time. . .who knew?

Alorie admitted that her logic was imperfect, since rebirths took many forms. One could be reborn as a member of the opposite sex, after all. But her friend Ava, who practiced magick, told Alorie about rumors of a reincarnation spell. In this spell, a person could be reborn, wearing the same face they did in the past. Ava knew not if this spell actually existed, but Alorie liked to believe it did. It would explain so many things.

Did Alorie believe that her friend Wendy was Arwen's own reincarnation? Her little sister smiled and answered she wanted to believe that. Just as she wanted to believe that Brody was the reincarnation of Boromir. But there was a sadness in her eyes when she spoke so, such a deep sadness, and Arwen wanted to know why. After a long moment, Alorie answered, "In order to be reborn, one must first die. . .and I do not wish to think of you or Boromir as dead. I do not want any of you to die."

Arwen felt a lump form in her throat, and she wrapped her arms around Alorie, drawing her close. Alorie rested her head against Arwen's shoulder, murmuring, "So many times, Arwen, I have wondered if I love you because of you, or because you look so much like Wendy, it takes my breath away. I know I told you, Wendy took care of me after Michael and Flynn were murdered. She. . . she made sure I ate, and bathed. She forced me to get out of bed each and every day. I think you could say she saved my life, just like you did. You deserve better than that, Arwen. You deserve more than to be an echo of someone else. You are no echo."

Arwen had nothing to say to that, and instead, tightened her arms around Alorie. They held each other for what seemed to be an eternity. But they had not an eternity. In a very short time, Alorie would leave with the dwarves, and remain safe with them until the end of the War that was coming. Arwen had no idea if she would even see her beloved friend again. She hoped so. She wanted it to be so.

That was three days earlier, and six days after the council meeting. Aragorn told her that Frodo thanked him after the Council, telling him that he was pleased to have Aragorn as a traveling companion once more. If Aragorn had not volunteered, Frodo would have asked him to come. Arwen smiled, listening to her beloved. . .smiled at Frodo's words, and at the ease Aragorn took when he told her what troubled him.

It made her heart rejoice, to know that they could talk about such things. She knew that he wished to protect her from the darkness of the world, but she also knew that was not possible. She saw too many things before he was even born, in the years of her life. Even so, Estel was a protector at heart, and it was what he was, as well as whom he was. He would never stop protecting. Twas why she wished. . .hoped. . .that he and Boromir would become friends.

Boromir was another who was a protector. She saw it when he crouched beside Merry and Pippin, helping them with their part of the distribution of the supplies. She heard it in his voice, when he spoke of his city, his people, his brother. Oh yes, she heard it particularly when he spoke of his darling little brother, his Faramir. Not longer a child, but at the same time, in Boromir's eyes, he would forever be a child.

He could not help himself. He was older than Faramir by five years, and Arwen knew a thing or two about older brothers. Even now, Elrohir and Elladan thought of her as an elfling. Older brothers were the same, whether they were Elves or Men. Boromir admitted it honestly. His brother was thirty-five years old, Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, honored and respected by his men. . .but he was still Boromir's little brother. And ever would be.

Stubborn men! Boromir was seeing his world fall apart. He feared Aragorn, feared what Aragorn would mean for his country, for his father, for his brother. And Aragorn had fears of his own. Fear that he would make the same mistakes as his distant ancestor Isildur. Fear that if he took on this great responsibility, he would not be good enough. It was such a weighty burden, being responsible for so many. It was his birthright. But when he fought in this War, it would not be because of his birthright.

Arwen believed, however, that his birthright would turn the tide. She was not born at the time of that great battle, but she believed strongly that Sauron was afraid of Aragorn. That was both a good thing, and a bad. It was a bad thing, because he would set his will against Aragorn that much more, would seek even more to kill him. It was a good thing, because such a fear was a weakness, a vulnerability, and one that could be exploited. Aragorn had the determination to beat Sauron, to destroy the Dark Lord once and for all. She had faith in him. Just as she had faith in Boromir. He could be trusted with her Estel's life. She knew that already. The only question that remained was the Ring. . .could he resist the Ring long enough?

And so she watched the two humans, who were so awkward around each other. She watched in silence, hoping that somewhere along the way, they would realize that they were stronger as a team, working together, than they were separate. As her father had said. . .they would unite, or they would die. In her heart, she pleaded, _Boromir, lay down your armor. Lay down your armor, for that may be the only way you and Aragorn may survive_!

* * *

Arwen was not the only one observing the son of the Steward and the heir to Gondor's throne. There was another, one who loved Aragorn as his own. Gandalf, or Mithrandir, or Olorin, was quietly watching the two humans as they prepared for the upcoming journey. He could not see the future, but he wishes to observe Boromir. The boy was not evil. Not even close to it, but Gandalf feared he didn't understand what the Ring could do to him. 

"Alorie has been asking why you wish to keep her and Aragorn separate. You may wish to speak with her before she is sent with the dwarves. The child actually thought it was because she was considered a peasant, and unfit to associate with self-exiled kings!" Elrond said from behind him. Gandalf smiled faintly, though there was no malice in his heart. Yes, he should have expected something like that.

"I will speak with her, Elrond, but I must insist that they remain separated. We were most fortunate that she did not see Aragorn during the Council. She is a good girl. . .but her obedience in this is most important. The reason for her arrival in Middle-earth is still clouded for me. Until I know why she is here, she cannot be permitted to interact with Aragorn. It is entirely too risky," Gandalf replied.

The 'why' remained unasked, and Gandalf murmured, "I have seen into her mind, Elrond. She is angry, frightened, and confused. . .even now. You know of her deep love for her brother Michael, and the young man Flynn." Elrond nodded, and the wizard continued, "You have seen how she behaves with your daughter, and with Boromir of Gondor. They both closely resemble people from her time."

He waited for Elrond to figure out what he meant, even as he kept the other part of his reason to himself. Alorie would be leaving with the dwarves soon, on a perilous journey. Even for people of Middle-earth, it would be dangerous. Part of what protected Aragorn was that Sauron knew not his appearance. If captured, Alorie could not tell them what she did not know. It sounded cold. And it was his desire that she would never be captured. . .not just for Aragorn's sake, but for her own. He had an idea what was done to Gollum. He wanted nothing of the sort to happen to an innocent child.

Elrond stated, "Aragorn has an appearance similar to her brother?" Gandalf nodded, and Elrond continued with a sigh, "So, you fear that Alorie would attempt to join him as part of the Fellowship. Do you think a child with no skills as a healer, no skills as a warrior, would be capable of protecting Aragorn? He is eighty-seven years old, Gandalf, and she is young enough to be his granddaughter!"

"Ahh, but he has the appearance of a man in his late thirties or early forties. The same age Michael would be, had he lived. And I do, indeed, believe that she would make the attempt to protect him. As you say. She has no skills as a healer, or as a warrior, and she must be protected. She is not foolish, but a young girl who lost her beloved brother. If she was to see him, she would do anything to protect him. . .even put herself at risk. And in so doing, she would condemn us all," Gandalf replied.

The wizard turned to see Elrond frowning, as he realized Gandalf spoke the truth. After a moment, the Lord of Imladris said slowly, "Is there aught else to this? Have you given thought to the reason Aragorn so closely resembles her elder brother?" Gandalf couldn't answer, not yet. There was far too much he didn't know. Perhaps sensing that it was time to close the subject of Alorie, Elrond asked, "What of Radagast? Has he betrayed us as well?"

"I do not believe so. It is my belief that Saruman used him," Gandalf replied. Elrond nodded, and Gandalf asked, recalling their previous conversation, "Do you still believe there is no strength left in Men?" Elrond grimaced, and Gandalf continued, "Aragorn will find the strength he requires, when the time comes. Perhaps he turned from the path of the king in the past, because it was not yet time to take his crown."

"Perhaps," Elrond replied, and it seemed likely that he would say no more. Gandalf looked at the Elven Lord in silence, and after a moment, his old friend continued, "I see what he can be. . .what he was born to be. Why does he fight against it so, Mithrandir? Does he truly think that he could do such a poor job as the King of Gondor and Arnor? Is that what concerns him? I know my Estel, Mithrandir. I _know_ his quality, as the Gondorians say. I know the quality of his _heart_. I know he cares truly for others. I know he would make a fine ruler."

"You and I can see it, my friend. . .but as yet, he cannot. That is why he is not ready to take the crown," the wizard replied. Elrond released a breath, and for a moment, Gandalf considered speaking of Arwen, but decided that would be a poor choice for now. Elrond, ever protective of his last-born child, would remind Gandalf that he had no children of his own. This was true, if one limited oneself to the children borne of one's own body. Then again, Gandalf believed not in limiting himself in that manner.

Even so, he had to trust in Aragorn and Arwen to hold true to each other. If they could do such a thing, even with the resistance from Elrond, then they were meant to be together. Gandalf changed the subject this time, asking, "What think you of Boromir?" The Elf merely looked exasperated, and the wizard said, "He is a good man, struggling to hold his people, his city, his world together. I sometimes lose patience with the boy, usually when I heard his father speaking in Boromir's voice."

"You have little liking for Denethor," Elrond observed, and Gandalf smiled grimly. It mattered not if he disliked Denethor or not. What mattered was that the man was the Ruling Steward of Gondor, and the wizard felt bound to offer his advice, even if it was ignored. He had no wish to see the White City fall. . .if Aragorn was to take up his inheritance, it was Gandalf's preference that said inheritance remain intact.

"I am fond of his younger son, Faramir. I wish you could meet him, Elrond. A good lad he is. Somewhat like Aragorn, but not entirely. I fear for Boromir because of the pressure under which he serves his father and Gondor. I fear for Faramir, because he still yearns for his father's love and approval. Denethor does love his son, I have no doubt of that. But. . .Ecthelion taught his own son that scholarly pursuits were weak, and now that lesson is being passed along to Faramir," Gandalf explained.

"As an adult, he surely realizes that. . ." Elrond began, but fell silent as Gandalf gazed at him for several long moments. No, Gandalf had no children of his own loins, of his own blood. Such joy was denied him, because of his long life. But in the thousands of years he lived, he had much time to observe parents and children of all ages. Whether those parents and children were Eldar or Men, it mattered little.

"Parents have more ability than anyone else to hurt their children. To cause them grief. A child wishes for the love of his or her father and mother. The fortunate ones know that they have it. And I have seen, through the ages, that no matter what a child's age, that wish remains. Tis why Aragorn and Arwen heeded your conditions, regarding their marriage. Tis why Boromir of Gondor is here. Those borne of another always long to prove themselves worthy to those who have gone before. They yearn to be good enough," Gandalf replied.

Elrond was silent at that, and Gandalf said again, "Parents have the capacity, the ability, to wound their child beyond all imagination. A biting remark, a harsh blow. The beliefthat nothing they do is good enough, will _ever_ be good enough. You have seen that, Elrond, in your own House. You have seen that, each time you look into Alorie's eyes. She has spent her entire life, trying to prove something to her parents. . .trying to prove they were wrong to leave her."

Elrond said at last, his voice very dry, "I believe, Mithrandir, that was the most long-winded speech I have ever heard from you, instructing me not to judge someone." In spite of himself, Gandalf smiled. Perhaps he was overly protective of Faramir, but he felt he had a reason and a right to be. He knew Faramir as a child, and very quickly grew to love him. Twas an easy thing, to love that little boy. Elrond continued, "It was not my intention to judge the boy, though I accept your meaning. And you do speak truly. Tis not an easy thing to simply accept that naught you do will ever be acceptable to the one who created you."

"Or raised you," Gandalf said, treading very close to a line he had no business crossing. He received a sharp look from Elrond, and added innocently, "I speak the truth once more, Elrond. After the death of Lady Finduilas, Denethor raised his two sons alone. You are entirely too sensitive about Estel's upbringing, Elrond. . .Aragorn had Gilraen as well, until he was well past fifty years of age."

Whether he managed the innocence he wished for, he knew not. It was a hard thing, even making an attempt at innocence when one lived for three hundred lifetimes of men. Elrond murmured, "You are a sly old wizard. Yet for all that, I do trust you." Gandalf harrumphed, but smiled to himself nonetheless. He understood what Elrond meant. They knew each other for a little under two thousand years. Of course he understood.

He was on the point of taking his leave of his old friend when Elrond said, "You will speak with Alorie, ere she leaves? The child needs to know she is guilty of no wrongdoing." Gandalf nodded. Yes, he would speak to the child. It would be necessary, for through her eyes, he could see that she believed she was being sent away. Cast aside, like an unwanted garment. In her mind, she might know the difference. . .but her heart lied to her on occasion.

* * *

Gimli, son of Gloin, held little respect or liking for Elves. And for the princeling of Mirkwood, there could never be trust. Gloin was cast into the dungeon of little Greenleaf's father. Not something Gimli intended to forget, and he planned to keep an eye on the Elfling during their journey. He knew not Aragorn, son of Arathorn, but the Ring-bearer seemed to trust him. And the Ring-bearer was the nephew, or was it cousin, of Gloin's old friend Bilbo Baggins. 

Personally, the member of the Fellowship whom Gimli liked the best so far was the blond-haired Man, Boromir. During the weeks since the Council, Gimli and Boromir spent a great deal of time together. . .usually sitting down, since the top of Gimli's head, without his helmet, reached Boromir's waist. Not an easy thing, attempting a conversation under such circumstances. Was much easier to sit down.

They spoke of the upcoming journey, of their companions. Gimli learned that his new friend distrusted Aragorn. . .those words, Boromir said. What Gimli also heard was that he wished he did, for he rather liked Isildur's heir. Or could, if there wasn't the matter of the crown between them. To say nothing of. . .other things. On one such day, Gimli spotted the dark-haired lass who spent so much time in Boromir's company. Jesting with his new friend, Gimli observed, "Look, laddie, there's yuir wee lass."

Boromir looked at him in amusement, then smiled when he saw the lass in question. He replied, "She is not mine, Master Dwarf, unless you count her as a surrogate younger sister. Her name is Alorie, or so the Elves call her. Would you like an introduction? I must ask you to speak very slowly when I call her over, for she still finds Westron difficult. She came to Middle-earth knowing neither Sindarin nor Westron."

Gimli was not inclined to trust someone cared for by the Elves, but Boromir seemed to trust her, so he nodded begrudgingly. Boromir called out, "Alorie?" She looked up, and smiled, her entire face lighting up. She had not the radiance of the elves, but she was a pretty enough lass. Her dark hair was worn to her shoulders, and freshly washed. . .it was still wet. . .there were reddish highlights in her hair. The hair that wasn't interlaced with silver, that is.

Her eyes seemed to be a light brown color, and freckles dotted her triangular face. The lass joined them, saying, "Boromir!" Her attention turned to Gimli, and her smile turned quizzical. She asked, her voice halting as if she had not all her wits, "Who. . .is. . .this? He. . .looks familiar." Gimli reminded himself of what Boromir said, how she was still learning the Common Tongue, and bade himself to remain patient with the lass.

"This is Gimli, son of Gloin. Gimli, this is Alorie. . .I am told that in her world, she is called 'Allison.' I think 'Alorie' a much lovelier name," Boromir said with a smile. She blushed, smiling back. It was on Gimli's tongue to protest that Boromir was speaking much faster than he usually did. However, Boromir preempted him, saying, "Alorie and I have spent many days talking. Your accent may be difficult for her to understand."

Accent! He had no accent! Well. . .unless his speaking of the Common Tongue was compared to Boromir, who was from Gondor. Begrudgingly, he nodded and delicately took her hand. He bowed his head briefly, saying as clearly as he could, "Tis a pleasure t' meet ye, lassie. Boromir speaks very highly of ye." Alorie's lips formed words, then she smiled, as if she understood what he said.

Gimli looked askance at Boromir, who said softly, "She repeats the words you say, just to make sure she understood them. She is not slow-witted. . .merely careful about what she says. Certain words. . .are not known to her, in her own language. There are times, when she thinks she is alone, that she speaks her own language to herself. I cannot understand anything she says, I understand only her tone."

Boromir's words were proven correct only a moment later, when Alorie said, "The pleasure. . .is mine. Axe. . ." She frowned, as if trying to find a specific word. She gave a frustrated huff, then threw her hands up. She looked at him expectantly, and Gimli frowned. She sighed, and repeated the gesture, repeating also, "Axe. Ring not destroyed." The destruction of his axe when he tried to destroy the Ring.

"Ye _knew_ about that?" he asked, momentarily forgetting to speak clearly. But it seemed she understood, because her smile turned mischievous. Gimli looked at Boromir, who also smiled, and the dwarf continued, "Well, then, lass. . .tell me what ye think of this journey." She shrugged, her smile dimming just a little. Boromir put his hand on her shoulder in a comforting manner.

"She will embark on her own journey, Gimli. She is being sent with the dwarves, for safe-keeping," he explained. Gimli frowned. He remembered Gloin speaking of a child who would accompany the dwarves back to Erebor.

However, when a child was mentioned, he expected. . .an actual human child. This young girl seemed to be only slightly older than the elfling Greenleaf. Aye, Elves lived a long time, and it seemed likely that the princeling was several hundred years old, if not thousands. Boromir continued, "I spend time with her when I can. I know not if I will ever see her again, or if she will be returned to her own time and place."

Alorie made a face at him, patting the air. Boromir smiled and added, "Forgive me, my Lady. I did not mean to speak so quickly." Boromir understood her? The Gondorian explained, seeing Gimli's confused look, "When she becomesfrustrated, she forgets words and starts speaking with her hands. As she did just now. She was asking me to slow down." Well now. That made a great deal of sense to the dwarf!

"Then I shall have a word wi' Gloin and the others. They may not understand what the lass is tryin' t' do. Och! Here comes that prissy elf once more!" Gimli muttered. Boromir looked toward the newcomer, his green eyes flashing. Evidently, the Man still hadn't forgotten the words exchanged with the princeling at the Council of Elrond. Just as evidently, the prissy elf had not yet forgotten either, for he returned the glare steadily.

What no one counted on was Alorie moving between the two blonds, standing in front of Boromir in a stance that would have seemed protective, if she was not so much smaller than the Man. Small hands came to rest on her hips, and her chin lifted defiantly. Elf or no elf, she didn't care for the way he looked at her friend and champion. Legolas Thranduilion blinked in amazement at the diminutive woman, then he smiled. The princeling inclined his head to the girl, then slipped away gracefully.

Alorie remained protectively in front of Boromir for a few more seconds, her eyes tracking the elf's departure. At last, the Man put his hand on her shoulder, drawing her around to face him. He was trying not to smile. A wise idea, Gimli realized when Alorie lightly punched the Man in his chest, saying definitively, "MINE!" There was no way that anyone who heard could have misunderstood her meaning.

"As I said earlier, Alorie," Boromir said, rubbing his chest, "were this a journey for young ladies, I would welcome your companionship." Alorie blushed and ducked her head in embarrassment. The Man put his finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him, as he added, "As it is, I will miss you very much, little one. You and I shall see each other ere you leave. But never forget this."

The girl swallowed hard and nodded, her eyes never leaving Boromir's. Most unexpectedly, she threw her arms around him. Even as small as she was, he staggered backward, but kept his footing. There was a desperation in her actions,almost as if she feared never seeing him again. Boromir, for his part, held her tightly and rested his cheek against the dark hair. After a moment, he released her and murmured somethingtoo quietly for Gimli to hear. She nodded with a reluctant sigh, and her hand came up to touch his cheek. His hand covered hers, in a silent message only they understood. She turned to Gimli, made a somewhat clumsy but recognizable curtsey, then took her leave.

"So the lass isna yuirs, lad?" Gimli questioned. Boromir sat down once more, sighing quietly. He shook his head, his blond hair flying in the opposite direction. The dwarf continued, "She seemed to be yuirs. She woulda shielded ye wi' her own body." Now Boromir smiled, his eyes reflecting a strange sadness. Though he was an Elf-friend, Gimli noticed a sadness in the eyes of Isildur's heir. He did not like seeing that sadness in Boromir's eyes as well.

"Not in the way you mean, Gimli. We are friends. . .she is as a sister to me. Speak with your father. Ask him to look out for her. I cannot do that, and I would have someone I trust in my stead. Will you do this for me?" Boromir asked. What could Gimli say? Boromir was the closest thing he had to a friend on this quest to date. It was a small thing to ask, particularly since the child would be traveling with Gloin anyhow. He nodded, and won a smile.

Boromir said, "Then come. I believe there are two mischievous hobbits who are on the verge of getting into even more mischief." Looking over at Merry and Pippin, Gimli decided that the Man was right. On the other hand, those two were almost always in mischief of some kind. Lord Elrond was despairing of his decision to allow the pair to join the Fellowship. Gimli, however, was pleased. He would enjoy having the hobbits along.


	7. Fate's Future

Yes, I'm back! What, you thought I'd given up? Nope. . .had Alec (Trevelyan), Ian (Howe), and Luke chattering away at me, and I finally got a decent portion of this written. Just had to print out the reviews. I hope everyone had a great Christmas (I got the TT EE! Yea!) And minor spoiler for the rest of the story. . .when it comes time for me to get to ROTK, Aragorn healing Faramir **will** be in the story! That was my favorite part in the book. . .has to be in here. Has to be.

Also, don't be surprised if, in the updates ahead, the story title changes. I've been thinking it over, and I've come up with a more fitting title, given the way the story is heading. I'll alert you in an update before I do it.

Reviews:

Crecy: Here's the update. . .I hope your eyes are feeling better!

Bea: I'm very glad you like the relationship between Boromir and Alorie. I'll not say anything about Boromir's fate (don't wanna ruin the surprise). And Alorie's difficulties with both Sindarin and Westron come from my own experiences with learning other languages. I remember one time, I couldn't remember the Spanish word for 'calculator.' So I used 'mathematics machine' instead. Hey, it got the point across!

Terreis: Daniel, put a cork in it! (glares) Well, not too far in. . .Alec likes you. I think, Mel, that you'll enjoy the conversation between Elrond and Alorie in this chapter. And the confrontation between Legolas and Alorie was fun to write. . .a confrontation without words or fists! And Gimli. . .one thing I noticed in the movie especially was that it was Boromir who comforted Gimli in Moria, and it was Boromir who held onto Gimli after Gandalf's fall. I decided to extrapolate a little. . .they are very similar characters, just packaged differently. Gimli's still funny, but that's not his sole purpose in the story.

Lil-sis4556: It's here! It's here! It's here! It's here! (Much as I love reviews, I write faster if you tell me what you like about the chapter. . .it helps me a lot and sometimes makes me think about what comes next).

Sailor Elf: There was a series back years ago, called _Strange Luck_, and I think that phrase describes Alorie's situation perfectly. All the poor girl was trying to do was find a nice place where she could read. . .instead, she gets a bird's eye view of the Council, and immediately gets caught between Boromir and the elves. It sucks being caught in the middle (Boromir nods)

On with the story!

Silent Guardian

Chapter Six

Fate's Future

The next six weeks seemed to take forever and fly at the same time. Alorie spent as much time as she could with Arwen, and when Arwen was spending time with Aragorn, Alorie sought out Boromir. He was always pleased to see her, and was equally pleased with the progress she made in learning Westron. She still fumbled with words, just as she did with Sindarin, but she was growing more comfortable with the language.

It occurred to her, during her last week in Rivendell, that she hadn't spoken English in what seemed like forever. That wasn't exactly true, for while she hadn't spoken English since her arrival here, her journal entries were in English. There were times when she missed hearing English or an American accent, but in truth, she didn't like to think about such things. She had no way of knowing if she would ever go home.

She didn't know if she would ever see Brody or Ava, Wendy or Delia again. Boromir and Arwen eased the ache, at least until she realized that she would soon leave the only family she knew in Rivendell. And it was true. The elves had become her family. While the twins, Elrohir and Elladan, preferred to spend time with Estel. . .he was their little brother. And they were kind to her.

Alorie met with the dwarves several times during her last six weeks. As he promised Boromir, Gimli spoke with his father Gloin and the other dwarves, explaining that she was only just learning Westron. Perhaps because it was because the request came from Gimli and Boromir, Gloin was very patient with her, and very gentle in a gruff sort of way. She didn't find anything strange about thinking that, either.

As yet, she still didn't know the reason for the tension between the dwarves and the elves. Knowing what she did about people in general, Alorie suspected that it wasn't a single incident, but several over the course of thousands of years. That sort of distrust and enmity didn't spring up over night. While they were dwarves and elves, they were still sentient beings, and sentient beings had certain things in common. She could only hope she didn't get caught in the crossfire once she left with the dwarves.

Alorie was grateful to them, since they didn't have to agree to Lord Elrond's request. At the same time, the elves were her family. . .they were never anything but good to her. Elrond gave her a home and shelter, when he could have left her to die. Not that he would do such a thing, especially after it was established that she was no threat to them. Arwen taught her Sindarin and patiently answered her questions.

In fact, during the last few weeks, the main source of annoyance came not from elves, men, or dwarves, but from hobbits. More particularly, the Ringbearer and his servant. Somehow, she ran afoul the Ringbearer and gained his servant Sam's enmity at the same time. Alorie still wasn't sure what she had done, though Gandalf did explain that Sam was very protective of Frodo. _Fine_, she replied, _then tell me what I did wrong so I don't do it again!_

The only thing she could remember doing was tripping, but she managed to catch herself before she fell into Frodo. It was a close call, and Sam didn't help matters by shoving her physically away from his master. She realized that she was considerably larger than Frodo (that was unusual), but it wasn't as if she meant to hurt him. Not that it mattered, particularly. . .she would be leaving soon enough, and Sam so upset her, she avoided both him and Frodo through the rest of her time in Rivendell.

Merry and Pippin, however, wouldn't allow her to avoid them. Not that she could have, because the pair were already becoming very close to Boromir. There were a few bad moments there, not because of her tripping, but because she sometimes treated them like children. She was stunned to learn that Merry was thirty-six and Pippin was twenty-eight. However, Merry relented enough in his indignation to explain that he only just passed his majority three years earlier. Pippin was still a tweenager. . .no longer a child, but not totally an adult, either.

Alorie mentally translated that. . .in Shire reckoning, for that was where they were from, Merry was a young adult, roughly comparable to a man of twenty-four or twenty-five; while Pippin was comparable to a seventeen or eighteen year old. So, while Merry was older than she was, and Pippin only slightly younger. . .they were both a lot younger than she was. She had to admit, trying to keep everything straight was enough to give her a headache, but at least it kept her distracted from the day she would have to leave her new family.

And both Merry and Pippin were patient with her when she got confused about time according to Shire reckoning, as opposed to the rest of Middle-earth. No one, as yet, provided an explanation why it was called Middle-earth. Alorie wasn't sure if that was became no one really knew, or no one had figured out a way to explain it to the newcomer. It could go either way, and Alorie wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer. There really were times when it was better not to know something.

Boromir moved on from teaching her Westron, since it was now a matter of practicing, and instead, began teaching her about the various nations. There was his own home, Gondor. He still spoke little about Gondor, and Alorie didn't ask. However, there was also Rohan, home of the Horse Lords, and the inhabitants were called Rohirrim, while their language was called Rohirric. Alorie was intrigued, because some of the names she heard reminded her of her studies of Old English.

There were other nations, of course, other peoples, other cultures, but Boromir focused on those whom Alorie would encounter during her travels with the dwarves. The ones he hoped she would encounter, at least. He said no more, and she was afraid to ask. Boromir admitted that he also knew little of Elvenkind. His younger brother would know more about the elves, for he was fascinated by them.

And then it came. Her last two days in Rivendell, and Lord Elrond called her in to speak with her while she was with Merry and Pippin. This was it, then. Alorie rose to her feet, leaning over to kiss the tops of her companion's head, then walked as steadily as she could toward Lord Erestor. Inside, though, she was trembling, and she prayed to whoever would listen for strength to get through whatever came next.

* * *

It was time, and long past time, to summon Alorie and answer what questions she had before her departure. She walked into the library. . .deliberately chosen, for Elrond knew she was more comfortable there than anywhere else in Rivendell, and indeed, in his home. He knew it was she, for two reasons. First, despite the months she lived in Rivendell, she was still a human, and thus, couldn't walk silently like an elf. Second, she was practically quivering with tension as she entered the room, and Elrond felt that tension. 

He turned to face her, saying quietly, "Alorie. . .please. Be seated. I know you have many questions to ask me, many things which are unclear to you." Alorie nodded very slowly, and sat down in a chair, folding her hands in her lap. He winced, seeing the grip she held. . .her very knuckles were turning white. Elrond sat beside her, feeling almost as if he was dealing with a small, skittish animal. . .or child.

"I am to leave with the dwarves on the morrow, my Lord Elrond," she stated quietly. There was no question in her voice. It was very matter of fact. Elrond inclined his head in acknowledgment, and Alorie continued, "I. . .do have questions. But I do not know which to ask first. I understand that your people are leaving Rivendell, indeed, leaving Middle-earth. I understand why I must go, why I must leave this place. . .why I must leave my friends."

"Do you wonder, then, why you are not being sent with the Fellowship?" Elrond asked, since they were also leaving Rivendell. She frowned at him, but not from misunderstanding. Her Sindarin, while not flawless, was becoming better with each day. And she did, in fact, mention on more than one occasion that her Sindarin was competent, rather than fluent. No. She understood exactly what he was saying. But. . .

"Lord Boromir has said that is no place for someone such as myself. . .someone who does not know these lands, or these dangers. I do not belong in this world. . .your battles are not mine. Were I to accompany the Fellowship, I might place the lives of the others at greater risk. Nay, my Lord Elrond. I wonder not at that. However, I am curious. . .why have I been kept separate from Lord Aragorn?" Alorie asked finally.

He was waiting for that question, and yet, hoped she would not ask it. Elrond replied heavily, "I know not for certain." Which was untrue, but he could not explain the truth to her now. Instead, he continued, "I know only that Mithrandir has stated that it is necessary. I have been told of your fears, and you must put them to rest. You are no peasant, Alorie, and even if you were, that would be no reason to keep you separate from Aragorn."

Alorie nodded. She didn't look pleased. More like. . .resigned. As if she was anticipating that answer. After a moment, she continued, "Mightyou tell me why you are so sad? I may not be an elf, but I can listen and I can observe. I see the sadness in your eyes, and it is worse sometimes when you look at Arwen. And. . ." She stopped herself, as if fearing that she would ask too much. However, Elrond motioned her to continue, and Alorie asked, "And what of your wife? I know she is not dead. . .where is she?"

Now that, he was not expecting. Elrond answered quietly, "You ask two questions, but they are one question disguised as two. Many years ago, my wife Celebrian was attacked, captured, and tortured. My sons rescued her, before it was far too late. But the damage was done. She tried to heal here, but it was not enough. She sailed to Valinor, to the Undying Lands, where there is no ailment, no hurt, that cannot be healed."

"Oh," Alorie said in a tiny voice, then dropped her head. Elrond didn't say anything for several moments. Her slim shoulders shook, as she whispered, "It makes sense now. Arwen told me that her mother left, and that perhaps my mother was wounded. I could not understand, but it all makes sense now." The Elven Lord made no comment, realizing that she needed to work through this on her own.

After several moments, he finally said softly, "And now, I have a question for you, Alorie." She frowned. . .this Elrond could see, even though her head was still lowered. Elrond continued, "These questions have long troubled you, I know. Arwen told me of your mother and your father, she told me that your mother's spirit drifted away after your father left. Now, I have a question for you to answer. Why are you asking this now?" A sound emerged from her throat that was a snort or a laugh, or something else altogether. Perhaps even a sob. Elrond was leaning toward that, as her shoulders still shook with minute tremors.

But still she didn't raise her head. Instead, she murmured, "I have nothing left to lose." Nothing left? Elrond frowned, then her meaning dawned on him. She would be leaving with the dwarves the following day. . .the child believed. . .ai, Elbereth. He was a healer, and while his talents lay in healing bodies, not hearts, he should have seen it, nonetheless. The words echoed mockingly. _I have nothing left to lose. _She would never see any of them again, and she had nothing left to lose by asking her questions.

Elrond placed a single finger under Alorie's chin, forcing her to look at him, and very softly said, "You should not have feared to ask these questions, Alorie. They were honest questions, and there was nothing shameful about it. During these months, you have become as a daughter to me. . .or perhaps a niece." That drew a weak smile from her, for he knew that she was ever closer to her honorary uncle, Devin, than her father.

"I. . .I was very inquisitive as a child. I loved. . .I loved to ask questions. I wanted to know everything about everything. Why things worked as they did, how they worked. There was no end to my questions," Alorie said hoarsely after a moment. Elrond smiled, remembering the little boy Estel, whose own curiosity was nigh insatiable. He always had a question about something. His smile faded as Alorie added, "I always wondered if Father left because I asked too many questions."

Elrond turned the girl to face him, staring at her evenly, as he replied, "Your father left you, your brother, and your mother because he lacked something. He did not leave because of anything you did or did not do. You were a child of seven. . .and he was an adult." Alorie nodded, as if she was finally understanding that. Elrond could not understand her father, despite his words. As maddening as his children were, as maddening as they could be, he could not leave any of them behind. Not willingly. Never willingly.

Alorie said after a moment, "I. . .I never told anyone that. I guess I realized how self-centered it was. And I was too afraid. Afraid of what people might think. Afraid that I might hear that I was right, that my father could not bear having such a nosy little girl, and so he left. I buried it deep. Too deep to find. Even if I wanted to, which I did not. I buried it deep, and I never allowed myself to think about it."

Elrond released Alorie's chin to grasp her shoulder, and said, "Perhaps, then, it was time. And, perhaps it was for this reason that you were sent here." Elrond believed that was part of the reason, but not all of it. He continued, "Know this, Alorie, daughter of Aidan, that if our time here was not coming to an end, you would not be leaving us. Know, too, that you have my love, and the love of my daughter."

Now Alorie's smile brightened as she replied, "I love you, too, Ada." She leaned forward and Elrond enveloped her in a comforting embrace. She returned the embrace with a ferocity that might have broken a hobbit, kissed his cheek, then darted from the room once he released her. Elrond slumped back into his seat, watching her go. _I love you, too, Ada_. Elrond tried to tell himself that she would be fine. . .but she was under his care for almost half a year. Letting of her would not be easy.

"Tis never easy. . .to lose a child," a familiar voice said and Elrond looked around as Mithrandir emerged from the shadows. The voice was gruff, but the elf could see the compassion shining in the eyes of the ancient one. He briefly considered telling Mithrandir that Alorie was his guest, not his child, but he would be telling the wizard naught he did not already know. Including the truth that the children you loved did not have to be your own.

Instead, he settled for, "It is not." Mithrandir seated himself beside Elrond, in the chair just vacated by Alorie. The pair were silent for a long time, then Elrond said softly, "Tis always difficult to say good-bye to Estel, when he leaves. I know not when I will see him again. If ever. But I raised and protected him for so many years, I loved him as my own. Gilraen was his mother, but I was the father whom he knew. Alorie is not a child."

"But in a manner of speaking, Elrond, she is," Mithrandir replied, "you and Arwen found Alorie unconscious and barely alive. You and Arwen nursed her back to health. You taught her to speak Sindarin. In her own world, she is an adult. . .but in this world, in Middle-earth, she is but a child. You raised her in this world, and now, before she is ready, she is being forced to leave her home. Calling her a child, even among her own people, is not so unfair a thing."

Elrond had no answer to that. After a moment, he commented, "I did not tell her the truth, about the necessity of her separation from Aragorn." Mithrandir nodded, and Elrond continued, "I can only hope she truly does not feel she has nothing left to lose. If she sees him now, before she leaves Rivendell. . ." Elrond had only to think of discovering someone who looked like his own twin, Elros.

"She will not. Boromir will keep her occupied," Mithrandir observed. Elrond looked at the wizard, who added somewhat innocently, "The friendship is good for both of them." Elrond merely nodded, though he had a feeling that Mithrandir was not as pleased about the friendship between Alorie and Boromir as he seemed to be. He had other concerns right now. He had two weeks to convince Aragorn to change his mind about his betrothal to Arwen. Elrond would not leave his daughter behind when he sailed to the Undying Lands.

* * *

Boromir returned to his own chambers when he finished with the preparations for the journey for that day. They only had two weeks before their departure from Rivendell, and much to Boromir's amusement, it was starting to remind him of the muster before departing on a new assignment. Against his will, he was starting to respect Aragorn, though he remained wary of him. There was something so unnervingly familiar about the man, but Boromir could not understand why that was. He never met Aragorn, he was certain of it! 

The Ringbearer and his servant continued to regard him with suspicion. Boromir was not certain if that was because of his own actions during the Council or some other, darker reason. However, he was sworn to protect the little one, and protect him he would. _Gondor will see it done_, he said at the Council, and Boromir, son of Denethor, made no promises he could not keep. On the other hand, Merry and Pippin were proving to be excellent companions already.

As was Gimli. He continued to eye Legolas with suspicion, which was returned in full force. On the other hand, Legolas behaved somewhat differently with Boromir, and the Gondorian could not understand why. Boromir shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. He would, no doubt, get to know the elf well during the journey, perhaps a little better than he would wish, but that was to be expected on a journey such as this.

Boromir was a soldier, and thus, had little left of modesty. He thought naught of stripping down to his skin. . .so long as those surrounding him were men. Undressing around ladies was quite another thing. Fair-skinned by nature, Boromir's face heated up as he remembered a day, perhaps two weeks earlier, when he found himself in naught but his skin, and Lady Arwen in the same room. That was humiliating, to say the least.

He knew that Lady Arwen was Aragorn's betrothed, and he counted himself fortunate that he was not called out. It seemed that Lady Arwen's twin brothers, Elrohir and Elladan, decided to play a practical joke on their younger sister. . .and Boromir was caught in the crossfire. So Lord Elrond explained when Boromir kept trying to apologize to the Elven Lord, adding that if there were any apologies to be offered, then his two sons were the ones to tender them. This was also fortunate.

What was even more fortunate was Lady Arwen mischievously asking him if he would take part in a return prank against her brothers. Boromir, who was no stranger to pranks, particularly against his own younger brother, was all too happy to comply. Lady Arwen promised to share more details with him as she worked them out. This exchange took place in front of a hobbit. . .Bilbo Baggins, the uncle/cousin of the Ringbearer. Bilbo, who lived among the elves for some years, chortled, "The fair Lady Arwen does not play as many pranks as her brothers. . .but the pranks she does play are memorable, my boy, quite memorable indeed!"

As Boromir began to strip his armor, allowing it to fall to the ground, a gentle knock sounded at the door. He smiled, recognizing the knock, and called, "You may enter, Alorie." The door opened and his visitor smiled a bit ruefully. Boromir told her, "I recognize your knock at doors. Would you aid me, little one, with this armor? I have spent nearly the entire day either aiding with preparations or in practice."

"What must be done?" Alorie asked, stepping forward. Boromir motioned to his vambraces. His fingers were too numb to properly unlace them. Alorie took one arm and carefully unlaced the vambrace on that arm, then loosened it enough for Boromir to pull his arm free. He almost groaned at the relief that provided, but instead, held out his other arm. Alorie obligingly removed the other vambrace, her fingers moving a little more rapidly this time.

Now Boromir did groan, and Alorie said, "Sit down." He didn't think to argue, merely sank onto the bed. She sat beside him and began to massage his wrists and hands, murmuring, "Does that help?" He nodded wearily and she released his hands, looking up at him, adding, "I'm glad. I. . .you know I leave tomorrow." He had forgotten, caught up in the preparations for his own departure with the Fellowship in another two weeks. With his fingers not so numb now, Boromir finished unlacing the rest of his armor, until he wore only trousers and a loose shirt.

"Then it will soon be time for us to say good-bye, little one," Boromir said quietly. She nodded, her face a blank. He did not like that expression. During his time in Rivendell, and as his friendship blossomed with Alorie, he came to know most of her expressions. And this one. This one always meant that she was hiding somewhere deep within herself. This conclusion required no great intellect. . .but Boromir was a soldier, a good soldier, and a great general. Part of that included knowing the thoughts of his men and what they needed.

After a moment, Alorie's face cleared and she replied, "I will miss you, Boromir." He smiled at her, lightly ruffling her hair. It was something that annoyed her, which was precisely why he did it. He knew perfectly well that she was no child, and he did it anyway. She glared at him, her eyes crossing at the same time, and he laughed outright. That changed her expression from annoyed to a rueful amusement.

Now on more comfortable footing, Boromir told her gently, "I will miss you as well, little Alorie." She truly hated references to her diminutive stature, and thus, he was surprised not at all when she stuck her tongue out at him. Boromir waggled his finger at her and chastised lightly, "Now, now. . . remember that about which Mithrandir warned you. But unlike him, I cannot turn it into anything unpleasant. Merely place something unpleasant on it."

Alorie giggled, as she was meant to, and Boromir leaned forward, lightly kissing her forehead. He whispered, "Be well, little one, and never forget Boromir of Gondor." There was a promise in her eyes, that she would never forget, and Boromir believed her. That was what led him to the next thing he wanted to ask. He continued, "I have a boon to ask of you, Alorie. If ever you find yourself in Minas Tirith, in my White City, find my brother. He looks much like me, save his hair. Look after him, as much as you are able. He is a fine soldier, a master of men and beasts. . .but he is still my little brother, and ever shall be."

Alorie's eyes were moist with tears, but she replied in a steady voice, "You have my word, Boromir. . .if I reach your City before you do, I will do ask you ask. I shall look after your brother as if he were my own." With those words, she placed her right hand over Boromir's heart. Touched, he covered her hand with his own. He knew how much Michaelmeant to her, and he knew what that promise meant.

He told her softly, sealing their bargain not with a kiss, but with a promise of his own, "Faramir is ever in my heart. . .as are you." Though it was no longer necessary, for her Westron was improving greatly, he spoke slowly. He wanted to be sure that she understood what he said. And she did. He was rewarded with a brilliant smile, then an embrace that nearly pushed him from the bed. . .an embrace that did take his breath away.

He returned that embrace, silently praying that this little one at least would be spared what was to come. He would do what he could to protect Frodo, as he promised, but this would be among the most difficult of his missions. From his chest, a muffled voice asked, "Boromir? Be nice to Aragorn?" He wondered briefly if Lady Arwen put her up to that, because her friendship with the Lady was even stronger than her friendship with him. Either way, she deserved a straight answer, just as the Lady herself did.

"Ah, little one, if only you knew. I am caught betwixt and between. My own instincts as a soldier and as a commander tell me that Gondor needs a king now more than ever. But my loyalty to my father and my steward demands that I bow to none save him. To acknowledge Aragorn as king is treason," Boromir told the girl. There was more to it than that, of course. Including the whispers in the dark corners of Boromir's mind that Aragorn thought him less. And the resentment spawned by that perception.

Alorie, bless her, had no response. . .and he appreciated that. They were silent for a long moment. Boromir became uncomfortably aware of how wet his tunic was after the workout he received today, and how badly he needed to bathe. But Alorie drew back at last and looked at him critically, "Boromir. . .you must bathe." Boromir rolled his eyes at her. He should have anticipated what came next. Alorie's eyes gleamed wickedly as she continued, "Of course, if you'd like me to run ahead and make sure Arwen is nowhere around. . ."

"Why, you little. . .!" Boromir blurted out. Alorie danced just out of his reach, before speeding out of the room. Her laughter remained and Boromir shook his head, grinning broadly. However, a lady did tell him that he needed to bathe, and never let it be said that Boromir failed to heed a lady's wishes. He hoped he would see her again before she left. He wanted an opportunity for payback!

* * *

Boromir did not receive that opportunity at payback. The next time Alorie and Boromir saw each other was at dinner that night. Lord Elrond, for his own reasons, seated the two together. Alorie was pleased to note that her friend took her suggestion. His hair was clean and dry and neatly combed, as was his beard. He really was a handsome man, and if she ever returned home, she would suggest this look to Brody. 

Assuming, of course, he gave that opportunity. Alorie knew that she was just as responsible for the schism between Brody and herself as he was. She shut down, wouldn't give him any chances after he blamed her for Michael and Flynn's death. When you came right down to it, she supposed that she stopped trusting him.

Too young and too stupid to realize that he was lashing out. . .that the one he blamed the most, aside from Saul Conover, was himself. Boromir must have noticed her sadness, for he murmured, "What troubles you, Alorie?" She looked up with a smile, and Boromir added, "Do not tell me naught troubles you, because I know better. I have a younger brother, as well as you, remember. . .I know such looks of sadness."

"I was just thinking of Brody. It was partly my fault, you know. More than anything else, he blamed himself for his brother's death. He just lashed out at me, because he needed to blame someone else, even for a few moments. I. . .I should have never shut down his attempts at reconciliation," Alorie answered quietly. Boromir said nothing for several moments, his green eyes expressionless in the candlelight.

Then he replied, "You were a child of nineteen when your brother and his died. How old was he? A grown man? He is the one to blame, for he behaved as a child when he was the adult. You were grieving, just as he was. He had no right to place blame on you." Alorie smiled at him sadly. If only things were that simple. Boromir added quietly, "I know of what I speak, Alorie. Grief is no excuse for treating those whom you profess to love poorly."

"No," Alorie said softly, "And that's why it's just as much my fault as it is his. Yes, I was a child when Flynn and Michael were murdered. But I wasn't nineteen forever. I only hope, when I return (_if I return_) that he can forgive me and we can find a way to be. . .family. . .once again." She smiled then, saying softly, "But for now, dear friend, no more talk of such sadness. There will be enough sadness another day."

Boromir took her hand, enfolding it in his, as she did that morning in his quarters. He answered, "Then we shall talk of joyful things. Shall I tell you of Merry and Pippin's most recent pranks against the other members of the Fellowship?" Alorie nodded eagerly, and Boromir launched into a story that had her shaking with laughter. She didn't ask him to reveal the details of the plot against Elrohir and Elladan. . .she knew better.

However, when Boromir finished his own story, she did tell him, "I wish I could be here to see your revenge against the twins. All Arwen will tell me is that she has enlisted your aid, as well as Bilbo's. . .and I have lived around Bilbo long enough to realize how dangerous that may be." She frowned, thinking of something she heard from one of the elves the previous day, then added, "Though not as dangerous as Merry and Pippin with swords."

"Ah, fear that not! I will be teaching the little ones how to fight during our journey. . .or perhaps Aragorn," Boromir replied. Alorie eyed him, knowing the topic of the king was a difficult one for her friend. He sighed, adding, "Do not look at me in such a manner. I have been conducting myself quite well around Aragorn. But it takes time to build trust. Trust and hope are both precious commodities in Gondor."

He looked down at his plate, then said softly, "When I was nine, almost ten, my mother died. Faramir was hardly more than a baby. . .he. . .he did not understand that she was terribly ill. My father had only been the Steward for a few years at that time."

Alorie said nothing, for he rarely spoke of his family, aside from his brother. Boromir continued after a moment, "A. . .an unfortunate remark was made by one of the scullery maids, within my father's hearing. '_If only we had a king_.' Father flew into a rage. I remember. . .I remember, making myself as small as I could, and praying that Faramir would stay out of the room."

Still, Alorie said nothing, though she wanted to know what having a king had to do with his mother's illness. Boromir answered her question a few moments later, when he explained, "Once he calmed down, I found the courage to ask my father what she meant. It was then that he told me the legend. '_The hands of the king are the hands of a healer_.' According to legend, the rightful king of Gondor might have saved our mother."

Alorie did some rapid calculations in her head, then pointed out, "But Boromir. . .that was thirty years ago. Aragorn was what, twelve or thirteen years of age at the time? There was naught he could have done for her!" Boromir nodded, his face reflecting a long-hidden grief. And Alorie immediately realized how insensitive she was being. She added, "I am sorry. You cannot help but wonder if Aragorn's father might have saved your mother."

"In my mind, I know it to be impossible. Mother became ill because living in a walled city sapped her strength. She missed her childhood home of Dol Amroth. I. . .I also think that she might have miscarried a child, after Faramir was born. I refuse to believe that she merely let go of her life. She had two children who needed her," Boromir replied, his voice tight with barely suppressed grief and frustration.

"Oh, Boromir. . .I'm so sorry," Alorie replied, her throat tightening at her friend's distress. The truth was, she could well understand why Boromir felt as he did. She felt the same way about her mother. But she chose to believe that Boromir was right. . .that there were other health problems that sapped his mother's strength. Her two little boys were reason enough to live, weren't they?

"No. . .no, do not be sorry. You are right. Aragorn could not have saved my mother. And yet, I wonder sometimes. . .I wonder what would have happened if our king returned, long before Faramir and I were born. I wonder sometimes, what would happen to Gondor. My words at Council were ill-spoken. I see what the stewardship does to my father. He is eighty-eight years old, Alorie. He should be enjoying his grandchildren, not ruling a country!" Boromir answered, bitterness warring with frustration.

She already put her foot in her mouth once during the last few moments, and Alorie was concerned at doing it a second time. In the end, though, she said nothing. She merely put her hand on Boromir's arm. He looked at her, startled, and then he smiled. He covered her hand with his own, saying, "I thank you for listening to me, Alorie. You have become a good friend to me, during these weeks."

Alorie smiled back, answering, "I am happy I could help, in however small a way. You asked a boon of me this day. Now it is my turn to ask it of you." Boromir nodded immediately, and Alorie said, "Do not misunderstand me. . .please, when I leave tomorrow. . .do not come to bid me farewell. I know that I will weep, and if you are there, it will be that much more difficult for me to be brave. Can you do this thing for me? Might we say our farewells tonight? You may not find it so easy to leave what you are doing when it is time for me to begin my journey."

"We will say our farewells tonight," Boromir answered huskily, "for if there is anything against which I have no defense, it is a woman's tears. I regret to tell you, seeing a woman weep completely unmans me." Alorie grinned, not just at his words, but at his rueful tone. Boromir said softly, "Yes, I will do as you ask. Remember me, Alorie. . .but I do not believe that we have seen the last of each other." Alorie nodded. She hoped he was right. Truly, she did.

* * *

Arwen was deeply grateful to Alorie for her companionship, though she could not tell her friend what troubled her. More and more, she was being pulled between her father and her beloved. Aragorn, while he was not losing faith in her, was losing faith in them. And that was just as devastating. Slowly, her father was wearing him down. Arwen held on, as much as she could. She was holding on for them both. 

Centuries ago, when Arwen was but an elfling, she was very curious about love, and also terribly confused. Elves could, and often did, argue with each other. She asked her mother about arguments with those whom you love, and her mother drew her into a shielding embrace, saying softly, "There will be times when you argue with one whom you love, Arwen. Being the wisest and fairest beings in Middle-earth does not mean we are of one mind. When those times come, it is then that you must hold all the more tightly to the love you hold for another. That is when you must stand the strongest, and have the strength to bend. That which bends takes the most to break."

Her mother paused, her arms tightening around Arwen, and she continued, "There is more for you to know, my Undomiel. There will be times when you cannot be strong, and must seek the strength of the one to whom your heart belongs. There will be times when he cannot be strong, and then you must be strong for him. And if it requires more strength than you have. . .and that is a possibility as well. A shadow, even now, creeps across Middle-earth. When it requires more strength than you have. . .then you may draw upon mine."

"But what if you are not here, Naneth?" Arwen asked. She did not mean, of course, that her mother was dead. But there were times when her naneth went to Lorien, to speak with _her_ naneth, and Arwen remained behind in Imladris. Celebrian smiled at her only daughter. In Arwen's young mind, it was like when she had a question that only Naneth could answer, and Naneth was not there.

"Why, then you draw from your ada. . .or your brothers. But Arwen, even if I am not here, no matter where I am. . .I will be with you. You will never be without me," Celebrian promised. Now, so many centuries later, Arwen smiled a bit sadly. She never would have guessed that there would come a time when she could not draw strength from her father. But so many centuries earlier, she never would have believed that she would fall in love with a mortal.

_I wish you were here now, Naneth_, Arwen thought as she glanced down the table. She really didn't know what her mother could have done, but just having her mother nearby would have helped. Her eyes swept over the table, and she had to smile. Both Merry and Pippin, the two mischievous young hobbits who asked to be included in her prank against her brothers, smiled at her, the younger of the pair winking at her.

Arwen welcomed the distraction. They came up with some very good ideas. She was not certain yet if she would use any of them, but at least she had plenty of ideas. Boromir had some good ideas as well. . .he told her when she invited him to aid her in the return prank of a trick his younger brother played on him once. It was in retaliation for a prank Boromir played on Faramir. He did. . .nothing.

It took Arwen a matter of seconds to realize what he meant. And when she did, she looked up at Boromir, bursting into laughter. He smiled at her, his green eyes dancing as he continued, "My little brother is an excellent strategist. He knows, you see, that sometimes the best weapon is not swords or bows. But the element of deception. Now, of course, as a soldier, I know that as well. But my brother has ever been better at using it. He knows how to out-think his opponent. In my case, I was expecting payback of some kind. . .and the more time that elapsed, the more anxious I became about the payback Faramir would enact."

"Fara-mir," Arwen repeated, "It means '_hunter's jewel'_ in the common tongue, does it not?" She was rewarded with a surprised smile from Boromir, and added, "That is your preferred translation, then. There is another, but calling such an admirable young man '_sufficient, or adequate jewel_' is a terrible injustice. And I can tell your brother is admirable indeed, by the way you speak of him, my Lord Boromir."

"There is nothing 'adequate' or 'sufficient' about him, my Lady. Indeed, I think so because he is my younger brother, but ask any of his men, and they will tell you the same thing. He would love Rivendell, my Lady Arwen. Faramir has ever been curious about elves and everything about your people. The sight of your father's library would no doubt leave him in a state of bliss!" Boromir replied.

"Perhaps one day he will see it. Tis as I tell Aragorn, when need be. . .there is a shadow, yes. But it does not hold sway over us. And even when the shadow lengthens, it shall not remain so. There will be light in the world once more, Boromir of Gondor. You must hold to hope," Arwen replied. A shadow now passed over the young mortal's face and his eyes were lowered. Arwen was having none of that. She reached down to gently squeeze his hand and said softly, "If you let go of hope, Boromir, then all is truly lost. You are a brave and gallant man. Surely you have the bravery to seek out hope?"

"I am not certain where to look, my Lady," Boromir answered quietly. Arwen stopped and turned to face him more fully. He was half Estel's age, and though he was forty years old, a fully-grown man and general of other men. . .he still seemed so terribly young to Arwen. She knew that his mother, Finduilas of Dol Amroth, was long dead. The Elven Lady released Boromir's hand and brought both of her own up to cup his face.

She smiled at him tenderly, replying, "You need only look to your fellows, Boromir of Gondor. To your brother warriors on this quest. . .mission. . .thing." She used the words of Pippin deliberately, to make her companion smile. Arwen was quite pleased when her attempt worked as Boromir remembered her father's Council meeting. Arwen continued, "You need only to look to them. Look to Merry and Pippin in particular."

Boromir's smile widened as he asked, "Did you hear about my first meeting with them?" His first. . . ahhh, yes! Yes, she heard about that! Switching his trousers for theirs, while he was bathing! Arwen laughed aloud, and Boromir chuckled as well, "I must admit, I thought at first that they were children. And no doubt, they will be quite entertaining. I will watch over them, my Lady Arwen. I am sworn to protect the Ringbearer, but I protect all who cannot protect themselves."

Arwen smiled at him and drew his head down, until she could kiss his forehead tenderly. She whispered, "Then I wish for you, son of Gondor, a strong sword-arm and a stronger shield. Be well, Boromir." He blushed. . .actually blushed. . .and bowed, taking his leave. She watched him go. Her own far-sight warned her that when he left Rivendell, it might well be the last time she ever saw him. She hoped not. Boromir of Gondor was a good and true friend to have.

Her eyes moved next to Sam and Frodo. Frodo, the Ringbearer. Like Mithrandir, it made her ache. . .Frodo had already been through so much. And yet, as her father said, he showed amazing resilience to the evil imbued in the One Ring. Would he have the strength to go all the way to Mordor? Would he have the strength to cast the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom? Sadness swept over him and she silently pleaded, _Whatever grace is given to me, let it pass to him. Let him be spared._

And Sam. In some ways, Sam reminded her of a mother hen, fussing over his master. Even if Frodo faltered, Sam would not. Even if Frodo's strength failed, Sam would have strength remaining. She remembered what her mother told her all those years ago, and Arwen nodded slowly. Yes. Yes, if need be, Sam would carry Frodo when Frodo's own strength gave out. . .Sam would see to it that Frodo succeeded.

Legolas. Youngest son of King Thranduil, of Mirkwood. Her Estel's best friend for decades. To human eyes, he appeared to be very young, and he was. . .he was young among Elves. But he was far older than he appeared to be, just as Arwen herself was. Though Legolas was actually older than she was, by a few decades, there were times when Arwen felt far older. He still had a playful spirit, similar to her two brothers. . .but she knew better than to underestimate him as well. He was as lethal with his bow as Aragorn was with his sword. And he was no fool. While amused at Alorie's protective stance toward Boromir, he was not foolish enough to think that she would not truly act to protect him.

Gimli. Suspicious of all elves, and Arwen supposed she could not blame him. But he was utterly devoted to those who earned his loyalty and respect. If there was anyone for whom she feared more than Sam and Frodo, it was Gimli and Legolas. Long had there been hatred between elves and dwarves. If there was a weak link within the Fellowship, ignoring the temptation of the One Ring. . .it was the potential of trouble between Gimli and Legolas.

Aragorn and Mithrandir. The Ranger and the Wizard. Arwen trusted Mithrandir to watch over Aragorn, for he was one of Mithrandir's chosen children. He had no children, he could never have children. But that did not mean he could not love. And he did love. He loved Estel, he loved Frodo, and many others. . .be they hobbits, elves, Men, or dwarves. In the hands of this wizard, she would place the life of her beloved. . .and the fate of her future. Her own fate was tied to Aragorn's. She had made her choice.


	8. Never Say Goodbye

Author's Note: Yes, I'm back. . .I do apologize for the delay. Boromir kept telling me about the future of the story, rather than the present. (disgruntled look) You can thank _The Chronicles of Narnia_ for this update, at least in part. After I went to see _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ almost two weeks ago (magnificent movie, by the way. . .I was in tears before the opening credits), I got to thinking about my own stranded character. As you'll see in this chapter, things are taking a path I hadn't anticipated when I started this story, but that's all right. I hope you enjoy the new twists. On the other hand, I'm not fully happy with this chapter, but after going over it umpteen times and being unable to figure out what I don't like. . . Also, for those of you who are curious. . .when I was writing about Finduilas, I usedLaurie Holden as the model for her. (Yes, the same Laurie Holden who is co-starring with Sean Bean in _Silent Hill_)

I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas/whatever you celebrate. I must have been _very_ good this year, because I was rewarded with a pair of unexpected gifts. . .Sean Bean's movie, _Tom and Thomas_, aired on Christmas night on WAM, and I finally managed to tape _Bravo Two Zero_ after six months of unsuccessful attempts.Responses to the reviews for the last chapter have been sent out. . .if you didn't receive yours, let me know, and I'll email a private one to you.I'm also working on the next chapter of _Heart Bound in Chains_, as well as the first story in another Boromir-centric series, called _Champions_. (At least, I'll work on _Champions_ as soon as I find the blasted diskette). Please continue to be patient with me, and I'll get to you just as soon as possible. With that out of the way, on with the story!

Chapter Seven

Never Say Good-bye

On the morning she was to leave Rivendell, Alorie awoke very early. In truth, however, she slept very little. She was leaving her home, leaving the Elves who had become her family, leaving with people she barely knew, and a thousand things spun through her brain. Despite her conversation with Lord Elrond, she remained uneasy. After nearly two hours of trying in vain to go back to sleep, Alorie threw back the covers in sheer frustration. She would get up and finish packing. A quick glance outside told her that she was far from the first person up. That young prince of Mirkwood, Legolas, was practicing his archery. Alorie smiled without humor. The Fellowship would leave in two weeks. He had plenty of time to practice.

She shook her head and turned her attention to getting ready. During her months in Rivendell, she had little contact with the servants. They were in her room before she awoke, filling the tub with tepid bathwater, and even when she ate with the other Elves, she never saw the servants. The same was true this morning. Her bath was awaiting her, along with her breakfast, and clothes were laid out for her. Alorie noted with no small relief that it was clothing suitable for traveling. The brown leggings and green tunic would make it easier for her to blend in while they traveled through forests. Given that she was a good bit taller than her dwarven escorts, Alorie welcomed anything that kept her from being too noticeable.

Without wasting more time, she slipped out of her clothes and into the bath. This was, she realized, the last time she would be able to bathe for quite some time, and she intended to enjoy it to its fullest. Alorie remained concerned about what would happen when she had her monthly, but Arwen promised that supplies for such an instance would be packed for her.

Alorie certainly hoped so. Even now, months after her arrival, she still hadn't had a monthly, and it worried her. Did her passage damage her so badly that she would have no more? That had both positive and negative consequences to her way of thinking. On one hand, she would happily go through the rest of her life without having another one of those things. On the other, if she was damaged that badly, she could have no children. And with a start, Alorie realized she did want children. There was still the matter of finding a man who could help with that particular project. . .but she did want children.

After bathing long enough to turn herself into a prune, Alorie got out, dried herself, and frowned thoughtfully as she noticed a few things different about her body. For the first time, she realized that she had put on a few pounds since her arrival. . .she ate more frequently, as she had more of an appetite. But these additional pounds were largely muscle. Hmm. Interesting. Very interesting. She spent most of her life being as flat as a board, it was odd to recognizethat she now had curves. Sort of. She shook her head and dressed quickly. Not because she was cold. . .actually, ever since she awoke here, Alorie couldn't remember ever being cold. Something else she never really thought about, but probably should have.

No, she dressed quickly because there was a light rapping at the door, and she didn't want to keep her unexpected guest waiting. Still barefoot, she padded over to the door, ignoring for the moment that her tunic remained untucked. And when she saw her mysterious visitor, she really didn't care. Alorie gawped for a moment, then breathed, "Boromir?" Her friend smileda bit awkwardly, and Alorie regained her composure, pulling him inside. For once, she gave no thought to the consequences (an unmarried young woman entertaining a man in her room, alone, in a medieval-seeming society). . .she was leaving soon, wasn't she?

"Good morning to you, Alorie. I hope you can forgive me. . .I did keep my promise. In a manner of speaking," Boromir said almost shyly. _Promise? What promise_? Oh yes. The previous night, she asked him not to come to her farewell, because she knew she would weep. And right on schedule, tears welled up in her eyes. _Damn it all to hell_! Curiously, or perhaps not, her anger was for herself and her overactive tear ducts. There was no anger with Boromir. Alorie angrily dashed away her tears, then enveloped Boromir in a fierce embrace. His arms folded around her, warm and secure, and the young outworlder felt as if nothing could touch her in his embrace. She felt so safe with him. Safer than she had felt since her brother's death. But. . .she didn't know if she would ever see him again. And that hurt. It hurt deeply.

"I will miss you," she whispered against his chest as tears trickled down her face, soaking his tunic, "so very much." And she would! Boromir's arms merely tightened around her. He said nothing, just held her, for which she was very grateful. If she was honest with herself (and she had been, ever since she arrived), Alorie was afraid of letting go. His dramatic resemblance to Brody aside, he was someone dear and familiar. While Arwen and Elrond were dear to her, as was Pippin, Boromir was her first human friend here. He was far more successful in teaching her Westron, and he taught her many things she would need to know. Boromir taught her what he could about Gondor and Mordor and Rohan. He even taught her a little about self-defense in this place. Just the basics. She couldn't take an Orc. But he was pleased with her progress.

"And I will miss you, dear Alorie. I will miss you terribly," came Boromir's hoarse voice. Alorie didn't answer. She didn't know when she would see him again, if ever, and she wanted to make the most of this moment. Unfortunately, she knew she would have to release him. If only to get a good look at him. She wanted to burn his face, his smile, into her mind, for she knew it would bring her comfort in the days to come. Just as reluctantly, he released her, allowing her to step back.

His dark blond hair was neatly brushed, though his bangs fell into his eyes. Alorie smiled and reached up with her hand, combing his hair back with her fingers, so she could see his eyes. Yes. That was much better. His green eyes were steady and focused on her, and they smiled when Alorie whispered, "Be safe, my dear friend. You said it yourself. This quest will be terribly perilous, and I do not want to lose you. Take care of Merry and Pippin for me." That made Boromir smile broadly. He was quickly growing to love the two youngest hobbits, and how could he not? Boromir already told her about the first encounter he had with the mischievous cousins, weeks earlier.

"It would be my honor. And take care of yourself. Be wary, and listen to what Gloin tells you. I've had many opportunities to speak with Gimli during these last few weeks, and if the father is as sensible as the son, Gloin is a very wise dwarf. Take no unnecessary chances, for I very much wish to see you again," he told her. She smiled as he cupped her face in his palm. She tilted her head sideways, allowing his warm hand to press against her face more fully. Boromir added seriously, "Remember, once this quest is over, and if we both still live, it will be my greatest joy to show Gondor to you."

"I will look forward to it, my friend, my champion, my prince," she replied with a smile. Boromir looked sad, and the outlander could have kicked herself. His inheritance was now in question, thanks to Aragorn, but Alorie told him, "Regardless of Aragorn's choice regarding the White City, it is Boromir, son of Denethor, who has protected her these many years. You are the son of the Steward, a prince in all but name, Boromir, and you have ever been her champion. Just as you are mine."

Unexpectedly, Boromir smiled and repeated, "If only this quest was not so perilous. But it is. And Lord Elrond wishes not to change the number of our company. . .Nine Walkers to match the Nazgul. Balance, you see." Alorie nodded. Yes, she did see. She told the part of her mind which remained in her own time to keep silent about balance and patterns. Boromir added, "And I wish for you to be safe. Dangerous times lie ahead, my friend. I cannot ensure my brother's safety. I would ensure yours, as much as anyone can be safe now."

The sentiments caused Alorie's throat to tighten. Once a big brother, always a big brother. Whether the big brother was Boromir, Brody. . .or Michael. Unable to continue on that mental path, Alorie whispered, "For so long, Boromir, I feared that my affection for you was because you resembled Brody. But now, I know that I was wrong to fear. You are you, and Brody is Brody. Be safe, my dear friend, until we meet again." It was good-bye. It had to be, because any moment, she would break down. Boromir understood. However, he had one last thing to say. Perhaps, one last piece of assurance to give to her.

He grasped her shoulders and pressed a light kiss to her forehead, whispering, "Both my father and my brother have the gift of farsight. But I need no such sight to know this. This will _not_ be our last meeting, Alorie. I promise you. We _will_ meet again." Alorie closed her eyes, accepting the truth she heard in his words. Boromir kissed the top of her head and bowed, his hair falling into his eyes once more. The young Lord of Gondor slowly backed out of the room, his eyes never leaving her.

The second Boromir silently closed the door behind him, Alorie drew a deep, shuddering breath. The desire to cry was gone. She would be all right now. She had to be all right. Gloin couldn't keep her safe alone. She had to carry her share. Once she regained her composure, Alorie straightened her shoulders, finished dressing, then began to organize her belongings. It was time for her to go. Only moments after Boromir's departure, Arwen arrived in her room, her deep blue eyes searching Alorie's face.

The young mortal wasn't sure what the elleth was looking for, and so she said softly, "I'm almost ready. . .just a few more things to pack. Lord Boromir merely wanted to say good-bye." Arwen said nothing. Only looked at her with a bittersweet and breathtaking compassion. Alorie swallowed hard and turned her attention to the few items not yet packed She really didn't have that many belongings. Not here. Not even in her world, now that she thought about it. That disturbed her, and she wondered why.

Once her pack was. . .well. . .packed, she turned to face Arwen, who took her hand. Together, they left the room and made their way through the Last Homely House. Along the way, Arwen gave her plenty of time to say good-bye to Bilbo, to Erestor, to Glorfindel and others. As ever, Erestor and Glorfindel were very kind to her. Bilbo squeezed her hand and promised to remember her in song. (Why? She wasn't anyone important). The twins, Elrohir and Elladan, were out on a scouting mission. But she had very little to do with them, so Alorie doubted if they would even be concerned that they hadn't the chance to say good-bye.

And through it all, Arwen remained at her side, holding her hand. Just as Wendy would have done. . .just as she had done, after Michael and Flynn's murders. At last, her nerves jangled by the countless 'good-byes' and 'we will miss you' sentiments, Alorie reached the outside, where the dwarves, including Boromir's new friend Gimli, waited with Lord Elrond and Gandalf. The dwarves bowed to her, a courtesy which made Alorie a bit uncomfortable, but by now, she had accepted that it was part of this society. Gandalf simply winked at her. The gesture made her feel a little less. . .whatever she felt. Nervous? Frightened? Something.

Lord Elrond extended his hand to Alorie, who smiled nervously and stepped closer to him. He put his hand on her back as he turned to the dwarves, intoning, "I give into your care, Gloin, son of Groin, one who has become as a daughter to me. I ask that you protect her and shield her, from all who would do her harm." Gloin inclined his head, which evidently meant he agreed. Well, duh, of course he did. . .she wouldn't be here, otherwise. Then Lord Elrond turned to her, saying, "Alorie, daughter of Aidan, always remember that you have the love of Elrond Peredhil and of Arwen Undomiel. Never will we forget you."

Wow. Just how did you answer something like that? In some ways, that was why she found Boromir's presence such a comfort. For this time and place, he was very plain-spoken. Something she knew. Something comfortable. There was never a concern about how to talk to him. With him, there was no hesitation. . .she could always be herself with him. To Elrond's words, really, there could be only one response. Alorie, choked up and barely able to speak around the lump in her throat, rasped out, "I. . .I'll never forget you, either."

The atmosphere was becoming too thick. Arwen was blinking back tears. Even the dwarves looked affected. Into that atmosphere, a young voice blurted out, "Oi! You won't leave without saying good-bye to us! We won't let you!" Pippin, in an eerie and amusing replay of his entrance at the Council, exploded out from behind a tree. He wasn't alone, either. . .his cousin Merry was right beside him. Of course. Where else would he be? Alorie hid a giggle behind her hand, and looked to her other companions. Gandalf rolled his eyes and mouthed to Elrond, '_Hobbits_!' As if that said it all, and didn't it? Of course it did.

Alorie turned her attention to the cousins, laughing through her tears as she knelt to embrace both Merry and Pippin. Each returned the hug happily as Alorie told them, "I wouldn't dream of doing any such thing! I could never leave without saying good-bye to my two dearest hobbit friends!" Pippin squeezed a little tighter than he probably needed to, but Alorie welcomed the twinge of pain in her side. It focused her attention. She whispered, "You two take care of each other. . .and take care of Boromir for me, too." At this last, her voice dropped.

Of course, both hobbits puffed up with pride at this request. Indeed, Merry informed her proudly, "Of course we will!" Not that Alorie ever doubted them. Either of them. During the last few weeks, she noticed the two youngest hobbits becoming close to the blond warrior. Hobbits were interesting creatures. . .fond of eating, smoking, eating, taking care of their friends, and eating. And Boromir most assuredly was one of their friends. However, unlike Merry, Pippin had no wish to just leave it there.

Instead, he proudly proclaimed, "Don't ye worry a bit about that, Alorie! We'll take care of Boromir. And Frodo, and Strider, and Legolas, and Gimli, and Sam. . ." Merry just rolled his eyes, cuffing hiscousin in the back of his head. Back home, Alorie reflected with some amusement, that would have been called a brain-duster. Or something similar to a brain-duster. And just like back home, it resulted an indignant look from the victim. However, just like the perpetrators of the brain-duster in her own time, there was absolutely no remorse from Merry over the action. In fact, he muttered, '_I think she gets the point, Pippin!'_

Alorie was now trying very hard not to laugh. Pippin, however, ignored that, and his cousin after his initial, indignant glare. Instead, he looked at Gloin, informing him in no uncertain terms, "Ye take care of her, too! She takes care of everyone else! Even if they don't notice it!" This was said with a determined nod, and Alorie frowned. _Just how did he come up with that_? She didn't take care of other people. They took care of her. Elrond and Arwen saved her life, teaching her Elvish. . .Boromir and Bilbo taught her the Common Tongue, along with other things.

She had no chance to ask Pippin what he meant, for Gloin told the young hobbit, "There is no need to worry, young hobbit. We dwarves are not careless with our honor or with our loyalties. Mistress Alorie will be most safe with us." There was a significant Look at Elrond and Gandalf. The young woman sensed Elrond's irritation, but she wasn't sure about the reason for it. She remained unclear about the reason for the tension between the dwarves and the Elves. However, one thing was clear. She vastly preferred 'Mistress Alorie' to 'Lady Alorie.'

"And for that, Master Gloin, you have our gratitude. All will be well, young hobbit. Go in peace, my mortal daughter," Elrond said, turning his attention to the woman in question. He embraced Alorie with a fierceness he never demonstrated before. Once he released her, Arwen took Alorie into her own arms. It was once more necessary for the young mortal to fight back tears. It was easy, earlier. She truly believed she would see Boromir again. Now, it became hard. She had no idea if she would ever see Arwen again. . .or any of the Elves.

"You are my own sister, as dear to me as kin. We will see each other, dearest Alorie, I promise you that. Before you go, I have a gift for you," Arwen whispered. Alorie frowned, rubbing at her tears. _A gift_? But Arwen had already given her clothes, a hairbrush, soap, and a traveling pack. Now, however, she gave her something beautiful as well as practical. It was a hair clip. . .barrette. . .a way to hold her hair back. Arwen pulled her hair back, then placed the clip in the dark mass, whispering, "Seek out my grandmother, Lady Galadriel of Lorien, if ever you are in need of aid. She will know you to make you welcome by this."

Once more, Arwen embraced her, then stepped away. Alorie smiled wanly at her, Lord Elrond and Gandalf. Then she stepped to Gloin's side, nodding to him. Gloin put his hand over hers, saying, "Come along, then, lass. We've a long journey to make." Alorie nodded, and thus it was that Allison Norman, now known as Alorie, left Imladris and the protection of the Elves. The next stage of her journey was about to begin.

* * *

They were scheduled to leave in two weeks, but that was subject to change. The Ranger from the North, and his Elven brothers, the sons of Lord Elrond, were now on a scouting trip. Truly, they could stay there, for all Boromir cared. But. . .on the other hand, the sooner they returned, the sooner the Fellowship could leave Rivendell, the sooner the quest would begin, and the sooner Boromir could return to Gondor. To his people. . . to his men. . .to his father. . .to his brother. Tis where he truly longed to be. Gondor. Minas Tirith. Home. 

He still thought this entire mission was folly, but he gave his word, and Boromir did not give his word lightly. His word, or his friendship. He glanced out the window of his chambers. The small group which included Alorie of the future was even now making its way out of Imladris. Alorie of the future. She told him once, during their later conversations, as she became more comfortable with Westron, that she believed she came from a time, far into the distant future. Before the Council, before the One Ring was found, Boromir might have laughed. He was not laughing now. His heart hurt too much for him to laugh. He would missAlorie. She provided him with succor during his time in this unfamiliar place.

And again, he reminded himself that Alorie's own journey was necessary. He reminded himself that this fight was not hers. Besides, she knew very little of this world, and even less of protecting herself on a perilous journey. Boromir understood this. But he would miss her companionship, her quietly protective attitude, and her sense of humor. Boromir smiled to himself, remembering the sight of Alorie stepping between him and the young prince of Mirkwood. Small, defiant, protective Alorie, defending that which was hers. And she had quite an excellent punch as well. He rubbed his chest again, smiling at the memory.

Her actionseemed to amuse the prince, though not in a disrespectful way. He smiled and dipped his head in acknowledgment, as if demonstrating his respect for the diminutive mortal. He and Gimli discussed that. . .it was an odd gesture for the prince to make. Still, Boromir had other things to occupy his mind. He once more bid his friend farewell, promising that they would meet again, then he turned his attention to the upcoming departure of the Fellowship. He had his concerns about the route they would take.

Aye, he had many concerns. The routes they would take, how the hobbits would deal with the journey. Would they have enough supplies? One thing he discovered. . .hobbits could eat an enormous volume of food. From Merry and Pippin, he learned that they traveled from the Shire to Bree on their own. _That_ journey was fraught with danger, and it was a relatively short distance. . .a matter of days. It would take many weeks, if not months, to reach Mordor. He worried especially for the two little scamps, Merry and Pippin, who were quickly capturing his heart. Or perhaps they did that in their first meeting.

He. . . All thoughts were driven from Boromir's mind as the door to his chambers exploded inward, revealing the scamps in question. Pippin was chattering away about seeing off Alorie, and how she told them to take care of him. Boromir smiled, ruffling the young Hobbit's hair, and tried not to laugh at Merry's exasperated expression. They reminded him so terribly much of himself and Faramir when they were younger. Merry cut into Pippin's chatter, saying, "Pay no mind to Pip, Boromir. . .but it is true, Alorie did ask us to look after you."

"Aye, she did. . .and we promised her that we would do just that. And we asked Gloin and the other dwarves to take care of her, because she takes care of everyone else," Pippin added. Ah. Excellent point, and from what Boromir knew of Gimli's father, the old dwarf would have no trouble making such a promise. Pippin, however, was thinking about something else. He paused, frowning, then observed, "Boromir? She did take care of us, didna she? I thought so, but when I said that, she looked confused, as if she didna think she did that." Boromir sat down, beckoning his two new friends to join him. Both Merry and Pippin wriggled their way onto the bed on either side of him.

"Yes, Pippin, she did take care of us. But I think to Alorie, everyone took care of her. Remember, Lord Elrond and Lady Arwen found her and saved her life. Bilbo and I taught her Westron. I do not believe she realizes that she takes care of people. I believe to her, it is ingrained, and she has been taking care of the people around her ever since her brother and friend were killed, when she was but a few years younger than you, Pippin. She does not realize that she takes care of people, she simply does it," Boromir explained.

Merry was nodding thoughtfully, murmuring, "Only if they let her. Why did you let her, Boromir?" The Captain-General of Gondor could only shake his head. Twas an interesting question. He didn't think she reminded him of his mother. Unlike his brother, Boromir had clear memories of his mother. Finduilas, a princess of Dol Amroth, had pale blonde hair and eyes as green as Boromir's own. She had been a woman of haunting beauty and a quiet strength. He could remember her smile, her laughter, and her willingness to do whatever it took to defend her husband and her two small sons.

And yet, she died. Some in the Citadel said she died, pining for the sea. They said that she could not be happy in a city of stone, like Minas Tirith. And yet, Boromir had a hard time accepting that. He remembered his mother. She had loved him, loved his brother, loved his father. After a moment, Boromir shook his head, pushing away the memories and the fears. Nay, Alorie didn't remind him of his mother. So, why then, did he allow her to take care of him? The answer, he realized, was because he liked it. He enjoyed having her fuss over him. He enjoyed simply being Boromir, and allowing that little bit of a girl boss him around. He enjoyed the knowledge that he was her friend, and that was how she treated her friends, no matter whom. . .or what. . .they were.

Out loud, he said, "I suppose because she behaved so with everyone. And because she did it without even thinking about it. She simply was, and it seemed churlish to deny her something that she enjoyed, when she was bereft of so much that was familiar to her." The two hobbits thought about that for a long moment, then Pippin nodded. Boromir asked, enjoying the possibility of turning the tables, "And what of you, Master Took. . . Master Brandybuck? Why did you allow her to fuss over you, as if you were children and she your mother?"

"Not exactly like a mother," Pippin hedged and Boromir raised an eyebrow at the youngster questioningly. The curly-haired hobbit explained, "She's more like a big sister. Not just an _older_ sister, but a _big _sister, since she's one of the Big Folk." Boromir could hardly argue with that point. Pippin added thoughtfully, "She eats like one of the Big Folk. Not nearly enough. Did you see how she would pass food around at dinner, Merry?" Boromir hid a grin, because to Pippin, such behavior was scandalous.

"Well, she might be one of the Big Folk, Pippin, but she's not very big around. I think even a child's arms could fit around her waist! Boromir? Could her arms fit around your waist?" Merry asked. Boromir could no longer hide his grin, and Merry asked, almost sounding excited, "They can, can't they? She hugged you a lot! Strider commented on it once." Boromir's smile faded. Oh, he did, did he? And what did the Ranger from the North have to say about his friendship with Alorie?

"That's right. Ol' Strider, he said to Lady Arwen that Alorie was very affectionate with men she barely knew. Lady Arwen asked him what made him think that Alorie didn't know you very well. Strider started to say something, then Lady Arwen told him that just because he barely knew Alorie, he shouldn't guess that the same was true of you," Merry put in. Boromir blinked in amazement. Lady Arwen? Said that? To her betrothed?

"And then her brother said, like he was pouting, that Alorie hugged you a lot more than she hugged him, and Lady Arwen scolded him. She said that he was behaving like a jealous elfling, and that he didn't spend nearly enough time with Alorie to say something like that. What do you think? Was he just jealous because she was hugging you instead of him?" Pippin asked. Boromir had no idea, but he was sure about one thing. He wasn't about to ask Lady Arwen. Instead, he asked his two friends about the latest information about their departure. Alorie was beyond his reach now, and he had to trust Gloin and the other dwarves to keep their word, and guide her to safety.

But he would miss her.

* * *

Boromir of Gondor would not be the only one who missed Alorie. The elleth who chose the young mortal woman as her sister felt the same. Arwen Undomiel was also thinking of Estel's condemnation of her dear friend. She did not understand it. Estel and Alorie never met. . .how was it his concern, her friendship with Boromir? Elrohir. . .he was just being mischievous, trying to distract Estel from his disapproval. Arwen knew that. But Estel. . . She shook her head. It was unlike Estel, to be so judgmental with so little cause. 

Arwen knew that Mithrandir was not especially pleased about the friendship that developed between Boromir and Alorie, and had no idea why. If it granted the young Lord of Gondor some succor from the whisperings of the Ring, then Arwen believed it was worth whatever risk there was. She believed that Mithrandir did care for her young chosen sister, and that affection was at the heart of his disapproval. She understood that. Estel, on the other hand, was behaving like a disapproving father. . .but again, he never even met Alorie.

_Males_! No matter if they were dwarf, elf, Man, or Maia, they were pigheaded! And yes, she included Boromir in that, but Boromir at least admitted that he was pigheaded. Twas in part how he survived. Arwen scowled darkly at nothing in particular. Her father was giving up on Middle-earth. Her betrothed was on the verge of giving up on himself and her. Boromir was struggling to maintain faith in this mission. Mithrandir had his doubts about Boromir's part in the Fellowship. And nearly everyone doubted the hobbits.

The Nine Walkers had not yet departed, and already Arwen keenly missed her friend. There were times when it seemed Alorie was the only other sane individual in Imladris, mortal or Elf. Once again, Arwen missed her mother. . .missed her grandmother. While she gave Alorie a way to be recognized as a friend by Galadriel, Arwen dearly hoped she wouldn't need it. However, with the perils in Middle-earth, it was all too likely that Galadriel's aid would be necessary. If such aid was required, Arwen could only hope that Alorie could find her way to Lorien.

"You are troubled for your young friend," a familiar voice stated. Arwen smiled faintly, turning to face Glorfindel. The Balrog-Slayer regarded her with affection, adding, "Tis understandable, Arwen. She is hardly more than a child, and now, she is being forced to leave the only home she has ever known in our world. And yet, despite your fear for her, I can also see your faith in her. You believe she will find a way to survive. Why is that, Arwen? Why do you have such faith in that child?" There was no challenge in Glorfindel's voice, only curiosity.

"She was brought to this world, in what we now know to be her nightclothes, Glorfindel. Brought to our world, unasked and unwanted. She knew not our language, or our ways. She was separated from everyone she loves and everyone she knows," Arwen began. Glorfindel nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. The Evenstar continued, "And yet, she has survived. She survived her injuries. Survived being cast into a world she cannot understand. Alorie learned our language, learned the Common Tongue. She could have given up. Could have simply allowed herself to die, or chosen to injure herself further by not listening to our advice. But she did not. She chose to heal and to learn. That is why I have faith in her, Glorfindel. Because in spite of everything that has happened to her, she refuses to give up."

The blond elf was silent for a long time, then observed, "I will not tell you that your faith in her is misplaced, Arwen, for all you say is true. She could have given up. She could have simply lay down and died. Instead, she learned our language, and she learned the Common Tongue. She even learned a little of protecting herself. The question now becomes, has she learned enough? What does your heart tell you?" Arwen's smile widened at that. She looked at Glorfindel, who had always been there, as far back as she could remember.

"She has not survived being brought to another world, against her wishes and against her will, to give up now. I do not believe that '_give up'_ is even in her understanding. She may have wished to give up after her brother and her beloved died, but it was a passing wish. If she truly desired to give up, then not even my twin in her time, Wendy, could have convinced her otherwise. No, Glorfindel. If she has not yet learned enough to survive in our world, then she will learn more," Arwen answered with conviction.

Glorfindel was silent for several moments, then asked quietly, "And what of the people in her time? Do you believe they are trying to find her?" Of course they were. Regardless of what happened between Alorie and Brody after the murders of Michael and Flynn, there was absolutely no doubt in Arwen's mind that Brody would be seeking her. Boromir would seek her, if she was missing, and Brody was very much like Boromir. Yes. Yes, they would try to find Alorie. No matter how long it took.

Evidently, Glorfindel came to the same conclusion, for he touched her shoulder and said softly, "They will. I can only hope that they are made of the same cloth as Alorie, and do not readily give up." Arwensmiled at him, grateful for his understanding. Glorfindel added after a moment, "I must say. . .I am quite grateful to her. If she was not here, I fear you would have gone to meet Aragorn and the little hobbit. That would have been a disaster." Arwen nodded. Aye, he spoke truly. Her father was notoriously protective of her, ever since the attack against her mother, and such an attempt to go to the aid of Estel and Frodo would not have been well received.

"I will not tell you that you are incorrect, Glorfindel. But she was here. . .and she needed me far more than Estel did," Arwen replied. She returned her attention to the slowly-departing company. It would take time for the dwarves to return to their mountains. Arwen silently wished her sister well, then asked, "How are the preparations proceeding? Have there been any further. . .accidents involving the Hobbits and food?" One would think that after seventeen years of Bilbo Baggins, the Last Homely House was prepared for anything. One would think so.

However, having one hobbit in Imladris was far different from having five hobbits. And Bilbo, while a hobbit, was quite old among the reckoning of his people. A far cry from Merry and Pippin. Arwen didn't think there was a brand of mischief invented which the pair didn't know about. Glorfindel replied with a wry smile, "Fortunately, no. Thanks in large part to the young Man from Gondor. Meriadoc and Peregrin are entirely too fascinated with him to cause further mischief for the cooks."

"I must thank Boromir for that. His good humor has been invaluable with the two younger hobbits. I do believe he enjoys helping them plot pranks against my brothers," Arwen admitted. Which reminded her. She still had to pay back Elrohir and Elladan for pulling Boromir into their prank. As for the others. . . Samwise Gamgee fussed over Frodo Baggins, which kept those two out of trouble, but additional help was needed with the younger cousins. Boromir provided that help, and ideas for pranks against the twins. Glorfindel laughed, and Arwen asked, "Glorfindel? What do you think of him? Of Lord Boromir, that is."

"He is a most capable warrior. . .fiery. Stubborn. Perhaps I should be angry with him for his dismissal of Estel, and yet, I cannot be. The boy has grown up believing that he would rule after his father as the Steward of Gondor. He came to us, looking for aid with a riddle that haunted his dreams and the dreams of his brother. . . and instead, his life, his very world, is turned upside down. Unfortunately, Estel did not help his own cause, by not even giving the boy a name. Not necessarily his true name, but a name," Glorfindel replied thoughtfully. Arwen listened intently, for the Balrog-slayer was not finished.

After a moment, he continued, "I fear for him, Arwen. In him, I see myself long ago." Arwen frowned, not entirely understanding the significance of that, but kept silent. When Glorfindel spoke so, it was not wise to interrupt him. And so, she held her tongue. The warrior went on, "He wishes only to protect his home, his family, his people. Such a simple, heartfelt desire. . .one that will be all too easy for the Ring to manipulate. It does such things." At this, he shuddered, then murmured, "Even Elves cannot trust themselves with the Ring. I have heard young Greenleaf dismiss Boromir, and yet, he fails to understand. Men live such short lives, and to them, the One Ring is a legend."

"Which makes it even more dangerous to them," Arwen guessed and Glorfindel nodded, looking troubled. She continued, taking it further, "Because the Ring has been merely a legend to Boromir, a myth, he is even more vulnerable to its evil. He cannot understand its manipulation. . .there is also the matter of Gondor's precarious position. Alorie told me something once, which seems appropriate now. The most dangerous man is the one who is cornered, with no way out. He will take any way out he can get, any way he can see. Even something as evil as the One Ring."

She shivered, fearing anew for the young Gondorian. That evil piece of jewelry would try to take the Captain-General. It would feed on his fear for his people, his resentment of Aragorn, his desire to protect what remained. It would feed on his frustration, his grief, and yes, his loneliness. And there was absolutely nothing Arwen could do to save him. He could only save himself. She prayed that Boromir was as strong as she believed him to be, for she had no wish to see someone with such a kind heart fall to the Ring. Too many had already fallen. Boromir deserved better. They all did.

* * *

By the time Allison Norman departed from Rivendell with the dwarves, nearly three months passed since her disappearance in her own time. In the early days, Brody Hurley and Robin Edmunds pursued the usual leads. The factory where she worked, her co-workers. Anyone who thought they had a reason to hurt her. The partners had learned the hard way that even the nicest, least offensive people in the world had enemies. People who didn't like them for reasons that normal people found totally unbelievable. But that was a mistake too many people made. Not everyone was reasonable. It was a mistake that cops couldn't afford to make. 

Brody was in danger of becoming obsessed, but he couldn't help it. . .and really, he didn't care, either. He had failed Allison, failed her so terribly. Yes, he tried to reach out to her, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. The terrible trio had kept him posted on anything new they learned, but it wasn't much. As the months passed, and the trail grew colder, it became more difficult to keep searching. The fact was, there was no indication that Allie was even kidnapped. There were no signs of forced entry. . .in fact, there was no sign of any entry, period. Her apartment was locked when she disappeared. . .dead-bolted from the inside.

He was on medical leave now, due to return to work in a few more days (give or take). As he had countless times since his brother's death and his father's suicide, he returned to the river where they swam and played as children. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the sound of laughing teenagers and shrieking young girls. He was preparing to join the police force in London when his father announced that he and Flynn were moving to the United States.

His father, tired of the memories that were around every corner in England, took a job in a small town in Indiana upon the urging of an old friend. The police chief in River's Dale had just retired. Devin's friend, Emmett McMahon, was on the town council, and suggested Devin. He spent time in the States before Brody and Flynn were born, before he met Fiona, and so found the transition between the United Kingdom and the US quite smooth. And Flynn. . .

Flynn immediately fell in love with the small town. He loved everything about it. And the town loved him, as well. He was regarded as a bit of curiosity, because of his English accent, but accepted nonetheless. Besides, he was only sixteen. Brody only remained in England for a few weeks after his father and brother left. They hadn't even moved into the new house yet, due to a tornado that swept through the town and caused devastating damage. The move was far more difficult for Brody, though remaining in England without his brother and father, and with the memories of his mother haunting him, bordered on impossible.

Everyone talked about how easy Brody found the move, because he was tall and handsome and athletic. They thought it was so easy for him, going through the police academy all over again. But it wasn't. Things were so bloody different here. The truth was, he would have never survived the police academy, or his first year in the States, with his sanity intact if not for the Norman siblings. It was the oddest thing, really. . . how quickly he became friends with Michael. He heard of love at first sight, of course. . .but never friendship at first sight. Yet, that was how things were with Michael.

And Allison. Brody smiled in spite of himself. She was such a cute little girl. Now he laughed, because she would have hauled off and slapped him silly if she ever heard him call her a little girl. Even though that was exactly what she was. All of thirteen years old. . .a skinny, coltish girl with short dark hair and freckles. How she hated those freckles! Brody's smile broadened a little. Not long aftershe met Flynn, she started to allow her hair to grow out. Did she fall in love with him, that far back?

Hard to say. Brody moved the wrong way, sending a spasm of pain through his gut. He pressed his hand to his midsection, fighting back a groan of pain. _Dammit._ He leaned against a nearby tree, breathing through the pain. After a moment, it receded, but the tree continued to support Brody's weight. About six weeks earlier, he and Robin responded to a call, at the very same convenience store where Michael and Flynn died. He responded to calls there countless times through the years. The first few times, he almost shut down. . .the first few times, Robin had to talk him through even getting out of the car.

But this time. . .this time was different. He managed to put his paralysis behind him years earlier, and managed to mostly forget what happened there, ten years earlier. This time was different. . .somehow. And yet, he really couldn't remember how it happened. One moment, he was talking down a terrified-looking teenager with a gun, a teenagerwho seemed strangely familiar, and the next moment, he was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The bullet had torn into his side, missing all vital organs. But it had hurt like hell, and the last thing Brody remembered before passing out was the teenager screaming something about him taking some ring and he didn't mean to do it, the ring was making him do it.

When he woke up, he was in the hospital, with Wendy Stryder at his side. She held his hand tightly, her face wet with tears, and she kept whispering, "Please, you can't leave me. I can't do this. I can't lose you. Not you, too." When he opened his eyes, Wendy burst into tears all over again and buried her face against his shoulder. He was too tired and in too much pain to do anything other than mumble that he was all right, even though he wasn't, not really. And it wasn't necessary, because in a matter of moments, Wendeline Rose Stryder brought herself under control once more.

But as she stroked his hair back from his eyes, she repeated, "I couldn't have gone through that again. I've lost Michael, and Flynn, and we may have lost Allison as well. I can't lose you, too, Brody. Promise me that. Promise that I won't lose you." What could he do, but make that promise? He wasn't sure if he could keep the promise he made. He never deliberately broke a promise before, but he was a cop. And cops sometimes died in the line of duty. Sometimes, too, they died off the job. There were simply no guarantees in life.

"I thought I might find you here," Wendy said quietly, interrupting his reflections. Brody turned a bit as she approached him. Her lovely face was serene, at least to someone who didn't know her well. Brody did know her, however. She continued, looping her arm around his waist, "Sit down before you fall down. Keep this up, Broderick, and your medical leave will last a lot longer." Brody rolled his eyes, but did as she told him, easing himself to the ground. She helped, and once they were both seated, she lay her head against his shoulder.

"And I know what you're thinking. . .how did I know to find you here. You always come here when you're worried about something. It's not just Allie, is it? You know the boy who shot you. . .Francis Baylor. . .he's been asking for you. Ava's spenttime at the jail, and every day, he asks if you're all right, if you'll be all right," she said at last. Brody didn't answer. What could he say? The boy talked about as crazy as Saul Conover. And he was still a bit put out with Ava for accusing him and Robin of not trying hard enough to find Allie.

"It makes no sense. That boy was talking crazy, but he wasn't doing drugs. Wasn't even drunk," Brody finally answered. He closed his eyes, his cheek settling against Wendy's dark hair as her hand began to move in rhythmic circles on his back. She had become very tactile since he was shot. Sometimes, after the doctors checked his wound, Brody would curl on his uninjured side, exhausted and in agony. She was almost always present during the examinations, and would rub his back afterward. Just enough for him to relax, and once he uncurled, she would caress his hair instead. The end result was always the same. . .him falling asleep.

"I know. Robin told me about the results of his tox screen. He tested clean for drugs, and there was absolutely no alcohol in his system. He's haunted by something. I talked to his parents. . .they've been terribly concerned about him for the last few months. About three months ago, give or take, he started having horrific dreams. He would wake up, screaming in terror. . .scared his mother half to death the first few times it happened. Especially since he couldn't explain what scared him so badly. He's a good kid. . .does well in school. Up until three months ago, he was a normal, relatively well-adjusted teenaged boy. I also talked to his best friend, Sebastian Gannon. He was just as baffled as the rest of us," Wendy told him.

Brody made a face. Yes, he was quite familiar with Sebastian Gannon. The teenager burst into Brody's hospital room only days after the latter woke up, demanding to know what Brody had done to set his friend off. Robin, not surprisingly, wasn't at all amused by Gannon blaming Brody for the shooting. While not nearly as hot-tempered as he was when he was a rookie, Robin still had a temper, and he was fiercely protective of Brody. That was the way things were with cops.

Robin had wrestled the boy out of the hospital room, threatening Gannon with ridiculous charges. Not that Robin cared at that particular moment. He only cared about getting the irate teen away from the shell-shocked Brody. However, the unpleasantness of the encounter was fading away as his companion continued to rub his back. The motion, as ever, was lulling him to sleep. She pressed a light kiss to his forehead, murmuring, "Rest, Brody. I'll watch over you." Brody was too drowsy to protest, no matter how unfair her tactics were, and drifted off to sleep, cradled against her body.

* * *

Three months. Three months since this nightmare began. Brody was still healing from being shot, so it probably hadn't occurred to him that around the same time Allie disappeared, Francis Baylor started spinning out of control. Then again, why should it occur to him? To the best of her knowledge, Brody wasn't hearing voices inside his head. Not like she was. She shuddered, lying back against the grass, drawing Brody down with her. He lay against her, sleeping like a trusting child. Ava would have made a face at the scene, but there were things Ava didn't understand. She _needed _to hold Brody close. The voice was quieter when she did. 

The voice actually sounded like her own, but it spoke in a language she didn't understand. Wendeline Stryder was a psychologist. . .if she tried to tell anyone that she was hearing a voice, which sounded like her own, she would have been locked away. And what was worse, she wouldn't have blamed anyone for it. A crazy psychologist was no good to anyone. So, she was on her own. The voice began not long after Allie's disappearance. The same time Francis Baylor started having those terrifying nightmares. An instinct told her that the three were linked.

She had no such dreams. Only her instincts. And. . . The woman's tones always grew more fearful when Wendy was around Brody. It would have been a logical assumption, that Wendy was in danger from her fiancé's best friend. . .but her instincts told her otherwise. They told her that she should fear _for_ Brody. . .not the man himself. Wendy tightened her arms around Brody protectively. After he was shot, and the women rushed to the hospital, the voice inside her mind nearly howled in grief and terror, quieting only when they learned that Brody would live. That scream of anguish nearly sent Wendy to her own psychologist. By now, she feared she was a danger to others.

A conversation with Delia changed her mind. . .that, and a reluctance to tell anyone what was happening to her. Delia knew about voices. She was visiting Saul again, and he was starting to sound normal once more. He would likely die for his crimes, and he accepted that. He was genuinely remorseful for what he had done to Michael, to Flynn, and to Allison. But he kept telling Delia that an alien presence seemed to be in his mind. A presence which told him that Aragorn and Faramir had to die, if Saul wanted to live. If he wanted to redeem himself for his previous failure. Delia never heard either name, but they seemed eerily familiar to Wendy.

As a psychologist, Wendy was, of course, familiar with the idea of regression. . .and the whole notion of reincarnation. As a scientist, she was skeptical. . .there simply wasn't enough proof to convince her. Too many times, much to her horror and dismay, regressed memories turned out to be planted memories. But as a human being. . .on a personal level, on an instinctive level, she did believe in reincarnation. So. . .what if the voice she was hearing was her own previous incarnation? What if Francis Baylor's nightmares involved _his_ previous incarnation? The question then became. . .were these tied to Allison's disappearance? If so, how? That was where it all fell apart. How could Allie's disappearance be tied to this, aside from a simple matter of timing?

She didn't know. She just knew that this female who spoke to her in a language she didn't understand was desperate for her to protect Brody. Something that she would have done willingly. Like Allie, Brody was a sacred trust from Michael. By taking care of him, she was fulfilling a promise, a vow, she made to the man she had loved so very much. Michael often worried about Brody. In his own way, he was just asprotective of the blond Englishman ashe was of his greatly-beloved younger sister.

Michael explainedonce, "When I look at Brody, I have this overwhelming sense that I failed him once before, some time in the past. I know. . .I _know_. We didn't meet until just a few years ago. But that sensation is there, and along with it is this. . .desire, this determination, to never fail him again. Promise me, Wendy. . .promise me that if. . .promise me that if I can't, then you'll watch over Brody. _Promise_ me, love." Frightened by her fiancé's words, by his very intensity, Wendy agreed.

She would have agreed anyhow. She loved Brody, too, in the same way she had loved Flynn, in the same way she loved Allie. And losing either of them. . .that was something she couldn't do. She couldn't bear to lose either of them. Allison was beyond her aid now, wherever she was. . .but Brody was still here. Wendy hugged him again, drawing a soft groan of protest. She kissed the top of his head, murmuring an apology. But Brody remained asleep, and that was all to the good. He needed to rest.

There were many times, during the last ten years, when it crossed her mind. . .to find comfort in Brody's arms. Or, perhaps to offer him comfort in her own. Given their shared loss, and the fact that Michael had been his best friend, it wasn't so far-fetched. Brody was an extremely attractive man. . .especially when he smiled. There were times when she nearly ached with the loneliness, and she longed for arms to hold her tight. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. Brody deserved better. So did she.

It wasn't even a matter of betraying Michael. Her fiancé had been a devastatingly practical man, almost as practical as Brody himself. He told her more than once that if he died first, no matter how old they were, she wasn't to spend the rest of her life mourning him. Taking Brody into her bed wouldn't necessarily mean a betrayal of Michael. At least, not according to him. She just. . .she just couldn't do it. She didn't love Brody that way. If she had given in, she would have betrayed herself and Brody.

And that brought her right back to her need to protect Brody. He was just as lonely as she was, and guilt-ridden over the chasm between himself and Allison. In his eyes, he should have tried harder to reconcile with her. They both could have done more, but that was beside the point now. He wasn't to blame for her disappearance. . .and he wasn't to blame for Francis Baylor shooting him. She nearly came unglued when Robin told her about the confrontation in Brody's hospital room. If Sebastian Gannon ever tried that in her presence. . .

It didn't matter. But it did. Francis Baylor's nightmares. Her voices. Allison's disappearance. The three were connected. Her instincts were screaming at her that they were connected. But how? How were they connected? How did she prove it?

And how did she protect Brody from whatever happened next?


End file.
